life and death twilight elsanna edition my way
by anbaxelsa1994
Summary: so I saw someone doing this and I loved it so I thought maybe I could do it my way. and don't worry guys I asked permission. so please give it a read :)
1. first sight

PREFACE

I'D NEVER GIVEN MUCH THOUGHT TO DYING—THOUGH I'D HAD REASON enough in the last few months—but even if I had, I wouldn't have imagined it like this.

I stared across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and she looked pleasantly back at me.

At least it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be about to die now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as she sauntered forward to kill me.

1\. FIRST SIGHT

January 17, 2005

MY MOM DROVE ME TO THE AIRPORT WITH THE WINDOWS ROLLED DOWN. Though it was January everywhere else, it was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, and the sky was bright blue. I had on my favorite t-shirt—the Monty Python one with the swallows and the coconut that Mom got me two Christmases ago. It didn't quite fit anymore, but that didn't matter. I wouldn't be needing t-shirts again soon.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this insignificant town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its depressing gloom that my mom escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been forced to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally started making ultimatums; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

Yet somehow, I now found myself exiled to Forks for the rest of my high school education. A year and a half. Eighteen months. It felt like a prison sentence. Eighteen months, hard time. When I slammed the car door behind me, it made a sound like the clang of iron bars locking into place.

Okay, just a tad melodramatic there. I have an overactive imagination, as my mom was fond of telling me. And, of course, this was my choice. Self-imposed exile.

Didn't make it any easier.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the dry heat and the big, sprawling city. And I loved living with my mom, where I was needed.

"You don't have to do this," my mom said to me—the last of a hundred times—just before I got to the TSA post.

My mom says we look so much alike that I could use her for a mirror. It's not entirely true, though I don't look much like my dad at all. Her chin is pointy and her lips full, which is not like me, but we do have exactly the same eyes. On her they're childlike—so wide and pale blue—which makes her look like my sister rather than my mom. We get that all the time and though she pretends not to, she loves it. On me the pale blue is less youthful and more…unresolved.

Staring at those wide, worried eyes so much like my own, I felt panicked. I'd been taking care of my mom for my whole life. I mean, I'm sure there must have been a time, probably when I was still in diapers, that I wasn't in charge of the bills and paperwork and cooking and general level-headedness, but I couldn't remember it.

Was leaving my mom to fend for herself really the right thing to do? It had seemed like it was, during the months I'd struggled toward this decision. But it felt all kinds of wrong now.

Of course she had Phil these days, so the bills would probably get paid on time, there would be food in the fridge, gas in the car, and someone to call when she got lost.…She didn't need me as much anymore.

"I want to go," I lied. I'd never been a good liar, but I'd been saying this lie so much lately that it almost sounded convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she promised. "You can come home whenever you want—I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I knew what it would cost her to do that.

"Don't worry about me," I insisted. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I walked through the metal detectors, and she was gone.

It's a three-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying's never bothered me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been pretty decent about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him sort of permanently for the first time. He'd already gotten me registered for high school, and was going to help me get a car.

But it would be awkward. Neither of us was what you'd call extroverted—probably a necessary thing for living with my mother. But aside from that, what was there to say? It wasn't like I'd kept the way I felt about Forks a secret.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. It wasn't an omen, just inevitable. I'd said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite my serious lack of funds, was that I hated driving around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

I stumbled off the plane into Charlie's awkward, one-armed hug.

"It's good to see you, Anna," he said, smiling as he automatically steadied me. We patted each other's shoulders, embarrassed, and then stepped back. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?

"Mom's great. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't supposed to call him Charlie to his face.

"You really feel okay about leaving her?"

We both understood that this question wasn't about my own personal happiness. It was about whether I was shirking my responsibility to look after her. This was the reason Charlie'd never fought Mom about custody; he knew she needed me.

"Yeah. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure."

"Fair enough."

I only had two big duffel bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for the Washington climate. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it still wasn't much. I could handle both of them, but Charlie insisted on taking one.

It threw my balance off a little—not that I was ever really balanced, especially since the growth spurt. My foot caught on the lip of the exit door and the bag swung out and hit the guy trying to get in.

"Oh, sorry."

The guy wasn't much older than me, and he was a lot shorter, but he stepped up to my chest with his chin raised high. I could see tattoos on both sides of his neck. A small woman with hair dyed solid black stared menacingly at me from his other side.

"Sorry?" she repeated, like my apology had been offensive somehow.

"Er, yeah?"

And then the woman noticed Charlie, who was in uniform. Charlie didn't even have to say anything. He just looked at the guy, who backed up a half-step and suddenly seemed a lot younger, and then the girl, whose sticky red lips settled into a pout. Without another word, they ducked around me and headed into the tiny terminal.

Charlie and I both shrugged at the same time. It was funny how we had some of the same mannerisms when we didn't spend much time together. Maybe it was genetic.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," Charlie announced when we were strapped into the cruiser and on our way.

"What kind of car?" I asked, suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Bonnie Black down at La Push?" La Push is the small Indian reservation on the nearby coastline.

"No."

"She and her husband used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember her. I do a good job of blocking painful things from my memory.

"She's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so she can't drive anymore, and she offered to sell me her truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from the change in his expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Bonnie's had a lot of work done on the engine—it's only a few years old, really."

Did he think I would give up that easily?

"When did she buy it?"

"She bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did she buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties—or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch—Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix anything that broke, and I couldn't afford a mechanic.…"

"Really, Anna, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I thought to myself…it had possibilities—as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that part was the deal killer.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie glanced sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie had never been comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. Another thing we had in common. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's amazing, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that he was talking about impossibilities. Wouldn't help anything for him to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth—or rather engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows.

It was probably beautiful or something. Everything was green: the trees were covered in moss, both the trunks and the branches, the ground blanketed with ferns. Even the air had turned green by the time it filtered down through the leaves.

It was too green—an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had—the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new—well, new to me—truck. It was a faded red color, with big, curvy fenders and a rounded cab.

And I loved it. I wasn't really a car girl, so I was kind of surprised by my own reaction. I mean, I didn't even know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron monsters that never gets damaged—the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had just destroyed

"Wow, Dad, it's awesome! Thanks!" Serious enthusiasm this time. Not only was the truck strangely cool, but now I wouldn't have to walk two miles in the rain to school in the morning. Or accept a ride in the cruiser, which was obviously worst-case scenario.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the faded blue-and-white checked curtains around the window—these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was one of my mother's requirements, so that we could stay in touch. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie, but I'd had to share with my mom before, and that was definitely worse. She had a lot more stuff, and she doggedly resisted all my attempts to organize any of it.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, which would have been totally impossible for my mom. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look comfortable; a relief to stare out the window at the sheeting rain and let my thoughts get dark.

Forks High School had just three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty-eight—students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new kid from the big city, something to stare at and whisper about.

Maybe if I had been one of the cool kids, I could make this work for me. Come in all popular, homecoming queen–styles. But there was no hiding the fact that I was not that girl—not the cheerleading star, not the class president, not the prep girl that hung out at the mall. I was the kid who looked like she should be good at basketball, until I started walking. The kid who got shoved into lockers until I'd suddenly shot up eight inches sophomore year. The kid who was too quiet and too pale, who didn't know anything about makeup or shopping or nail polish statistics or anything else I was supposed to be into.

Unlike the other girls, I didn't have a ton of free time for hobbies. I had a checkbook to balance, a clogged drain to snake, and a week's groceries to shop for.

Or I used to.

So I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closest to of anyone on the planet, never really understood me. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Like, maybe what I saw as green was what everyone else saw as red. Maybe I smelled vinegar when they smelled coconut. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I finally got my head to shut up. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quiet drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like that prison cage I'd imagined.

Breakfast with Charlie was quiet. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was a waste of time. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and stared at the familiar kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. My mom had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago, trying to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining, microscopic family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to this year's. Those were embarrassing to look at—the bad haircuts, the braces years, the acne that had finally cleared up. I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I put on my jacket—thick, non-breathing plastic, like a biohazard suit—and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eave by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots sounded weird. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Bonnie or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, which was a relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a bonus I hadn't expected

Finding the school wasn't difficult; like most other things, it was just off the highway. It wasn't obvious at first that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, clued me in. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I thought. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked by the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; there was a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there weren't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to the front. There were three desks behind the counter; a round, balding man in glasses sat at one. He was wearing a t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed for the weather.

The balding man looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Anna Swan," I informed him, and saw the quick recognition in his eyes. I was expected, already the subject of gossip. The Chief's daughter, the one with the unstable mom, come home at last.

"Of course," he said. He dug through a leaning stack of papers on his desk till he found the ones he was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, Annalise, and a map of the school." He brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

"Um, it's Anna, please."

"Oh, sure, Anna."

He went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. He smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. Most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home, I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a brand-new silver Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the earsplitting volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my backpack, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. It won't be that bad, I lied to myself. Seriously, though, this wasn't a life and death situation—it was just high school. It's not like anyone was going to bite me. I finally exhaled, and stepped out of the truck.

I pulled my hood down over my face as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I was glad to see, though there wasn't much I could do about my height. I hunched my shoulders and kept my head down.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a narrow woman with thinning hair whose desk had a nameplate identifying her as Ms. Mason. She gawked at me when she saw my name—discouraging—and I could feel the blood rush into my face, no doubt forming unattractive splotches across my cheeks and neck. At least she sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. I tried to fold myself into the little desk as inconspicuously as possible.

It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was pretty basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting…and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a pale, skinny girl with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Annalise Swan, aren't you?" She gave off the vibe of an overly helpful, chess club type.

"Anna," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" she asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way.…" Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Erica," she added.

I forced a smile. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. Several people seemed to be walking too close behind us—like they were trying to eavesdrop or something. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid

So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" she asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" she wondered.

"Sunny," I told her.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

She studied my face uneasily, and I stifled a groan. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Erica followed me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," she said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." She sounded hopeful.

I smiled at her—in what I hoped was not an encouraging way—and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same way. My Trigonometry teacher, Ms. Varner, who I would have disliked anyway just because of the subject she taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, went splotchy red, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize some of the faces in each room. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

In every class, the teacher started out calling me Annalise, and though I corrected them immediately, it was depressing. It had taken me years to live down Annaliese—thank you so much, Grandma, for dying just months before I was born and making my mom feel obligated to honor you. No one at home even remembered that Anna was just a nickname anymore. Now I had to start all over again.

One guy sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and he walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. He was short, not even up to my shoulder, but his crazy curly hair made up some of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember his name, so I smiled and nodded as he rattled on about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of his friends, who he introduced to me—couldn't complain about the manners here. I forgot all their names as soon as he said them. They seemed to think it was cool that he'd invited me. The girl from English, Erica, waved at me from across the room, and they all laughed. Already the butt of the joke. It was probably a new record for me. But none of them seemed mean-spirited about it.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were seated in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them. But it was none of these things that caught my attention.

They didn't look anything alike.

There were three girls; one I could tell was super tall, even sitting down, maybe as tall as I was—her legs went on forever. She looked like she might be the captain of the volleyball team, and I was pretty sure you wouldn't want to get in the way of one of her spikes. She had dark, curly hair, pulled back in a messy ponytail.

Another had hair the color of honey hanging to her shoulders; she was not quite so tall as the brunette but still probably taller than most of the other guys at my table. There was something intense about her, edgy. It was kind of weird, but for some reason she made me think of this actress I'd seen in an action movie a few weeks ago, who took down a dozen guys with a machete. I remembered thinking then that I didn't buy it—there was no way the actress could have taken on that many bad guys and won. But I thought now that I might have bought it all if the character had been played by this girl.

The last girl was smaller, with hair that was ,blonde. She looked younger than the other two, who could have been in college, easy.

The two guys were opposites. The taller one—who was definitely taller than me, I'd guess six-five or even more—was clearly the school's star athlete. And the prom king. And the guy who always had dibs on whatever equipment he wanted in the weight room. His straight gold hair was wound into a bun on the back of his head, but there was nothing feminine about it—somehow it made him look even more like a man. He was clearly too cool for this school, or any other I could imagine.

The shorter guy was wiry, his dark hair buzzed so short it was just a shadow across his scalp.

Totally different, and yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes—from here they looked black—despite the range in their hair colors. There were deep shadows under all their eyes—purple shadows, like bruises. Maybe the five of them had just pulled an all-nighter. Or maybe they were recovering from broken noses. Except that their noses, all their features, were straight, angular.

But that wasn't why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all insanely, inhumanly beautiful. The girls and the guys both—beautiful. They were faces you never saw in real life—just airbrushed in magazines and on billboards. Or in a museum, painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to believe they were real

I decided the most beautiful of all was the smaller girl with the blonde-colored hair, though I expected the other half of the female half of the student body would vote for the movie-star blond guy. They would be wrong, though. I mean, all of them were gorgeous, but the girl was something more than just beautiful. She was absolutely perfect. It was an upsetting, disturbing kind of perfection. It made my stomach uneasy.

They were all looking away; away from each other, away from the rest of the students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. It reminded me of models posed oh so artistically for an ad—aesthetic ennui. As I watched, the wiry skinhead guy rose with his tray—unopened soda, untouched apple—and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, wondering if they had a dance company here in town, till he dumped his tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who hadn't changed.

"Who are they?" I asked the guy from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.

As he looked up to see who I meant—though he could probably guess from my tone—suddenly she looked at us, the perfect one. She looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then her dark eyes flickered to mine. Long eyes, angled up at the corners, thick lashes.

She looked away quickly, faster than I could, though I dropped my stare as soon as she'd glanced our way. I could feel the patches of red start to bloom in my face. In that brief flash of a glance, her face wasn't interested at all—it was like he had called her name, and she'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

My neighbor laughed once, uncomfortable, looking down at the table like I did.

He muttered his answer under his breath. "Those are the Cullens and the Hales. Elsa and Eleanor Cullen, Jessamine and Royal Hale. The one who left was Archie Cullen. They live with Dr. Cullen and her husband."

I glanced sideways at the perfect girl, who was looking at her tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with thin, pale fingers. Her mouth was moving very quickly, her full lips barely opening. The other three looked away, but I still thought she might be speaking quietly to them.

Weird names. Old-fashioned. The kinds of names grandparents had—like my name. Maybe that was the thing here? Small-town names? And then I finally remembered that my neighbor was named Jeremy. A totally normal name. There were two kids named Jeremy in my history class back home.

"They're all very…good-looking." What an understatement.

"Yeah!" Jeremy agreed with another laugh. "They're all together, though—Royal and Eleanor, Archie and Jessamine. Like dating, you know? And they live together." He snickered and wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

I didn't know why, but his reaction made me want to defend them. Maybe just because he sounded so judgmental. But what could I say? I didn't know anything about them.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked, wanting to change the tone but not the subject. "They don't look related…well, I mean, sort of…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young. Early thirties. The Cullen kids are all adopted. The Hales—the blondes—are brother and sister, twins, I think, and they're some kind of foster kids."

"They look old for foster kids."

"They are now. Royal and Jessamine are both eighteen, but they've been with Mr. Cullen since they were little. He's their uncle, I think."

"That's actually kind of amazing—for them to take care of all those kids, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jeremy said, though it sounded like he'd rather not say anything positive. As if he didn't like the doctor and her husband for some reason…and the way he was looking at their adopted kids, I could guess there might be some jealousy involved. "I think Dr. Cullen can't have any kids, though," he added, as if that somehow made what they were doing less admirable.

Through all this conversation, I couldn't keep my eyes away from the strange family for more than a few seconds at a time. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. How could I never have noticed them during my summers here?

"No. They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a strange wave of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were still outsiders, not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and definitely not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them again, the perfect girl, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with obvious curiosity. As I immediately looked away, I thought that her look held some kind of unanswered expectation.

"Which one is the girl with the light blonde hair?" I asked. I tried to glance casually in that direction, like I was just checking out the cafeteria; she was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other kids had today—she had this frustrated expression I didn't understand. I looked down again.

"That's Elsa. She's hot, sure, but don't waste your time if you like girls. She doesn't go out with anyone. Apparently none of the guys OR girls here are good enough for her," Jeremy said sourly, then grunted. I wondered how many times she'd turned him down.

I pressed my lips together to hide a smile. Then I glanced at her again. Elsa. Her face was turned away, but I thought from the shape of her cheek that she might be smiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were seriously graceful—even the golden prom king. It was a strange thing to watch them in motion together. Elsa didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jeremy and his friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I didn't want to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who politely reminded me that his name was Allen, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. He was probably shy like me.

When we entered the classroom, Allen went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to at home. He already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Elsa Cullen by her unusual blonde hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

My heart started pounding a little faster than usual.

As I walked down the aisle to do my required intro for the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching her, trying to make it covert. Just as I passed, she suddenly went rigid in her seat. Her face jerked up toward mine so fast it surprised me, staring with the strangest expression—it was more than angry, it was furious, hostile. I looked away, stunned, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

I'd been right about the eyes. They were black—coal black.

Mrs. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions and no mention of my full name. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, she had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by her, confused and awkward, wondering what I could have done to earn the antagonistic glare she'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw her posture change from the corner of my eye. She was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of her chair and averting her face like she smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed. My hair smelled like strawberry my favorite shampoo. How could that be offensive? I scooted my chair to the right, giving her as much space as I could, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

The lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from shooting the occasional glance at the strange girl next to me. Throughout the entire class, she never relaxed her stiff position on the edge of her chair, sitting as far from me as possible, with her hair hiding most of her face. Her hand was clenched into a fist on top of her left thigh, tendons standing out under her pale skin. This, too, she never relaxed. She had the sleeves of her white henley pushed up to her elbows, and her forearm flexed with surprisingly hard muscle beneath her pale skin. I couldn't help but notice how perfect that skin was. Not one freckle, not one scar.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the rest. Was it because the day was finally ending, or because I was waiting for her tight fist to loosen? It never did; she continued to sit so still it looked like she wasn't even breathing. What was wrong with her? Was this how she usually acted? I questioned my quick judgment on Jeremy's sour grapes at lunch today. Maybe he wasn't just resentful.

This couldn't have anything to do with me. She didn't know me from Eve.

Mrs. Banner passed some quizzes back when the class was almost done. She handed me one to give to the girl.

I glanced down at her as I slid the paper over, and then instantly regretted it. She was glaring up at me again, her long, black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from the hate radiating from her, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Elsa Cullen was out of her seat. She moved like a dancer, every perfect line of her slim body in harmony with all the others, her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after her. She was so harsh. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block out the confusion and guilt that filled me. Why should I feel guilty? I hadn't done anything wrong. How could I have? I hadn't actually even met her.

"Aren't you Annalise Swan?" a female voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced girl, her hair carefully flat-ironed into a pale blond curtain, smiling at me in a friendly way. She obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Anna," I corrected her, smiling back.

"I'm McKayla."

"Hi, McKayla."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." She seemed thrilled, though it wasn't such a big coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; she was a chatterer—she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. She'd lived in California till she was ten, so she got how I felt about the sun. It turned out she'd been in my English class also. She was the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym she asked, "So, did you stab Elsa Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen her act like that."

I winced. I guess I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Elsa Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb

Was that the girl I sat next to in Biology?"

"Yeah," she said. "She looked like she was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to her."

"She's weird." McKayla lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I got to sit by you, I would have talked to you." because you seem cool she quickly said while blushing.

I smiled at her before walking through the girls' locker room door. She was kind and seemed to like me. But that wasn't enough to make me forget the last strange hour.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform, but she didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here P.E. was mandatory all four years. My own special version of hell.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained—and inflicted—playing volleyball, I felt a little nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had faded away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I zipped my jacket up and shoved my free hand into a pocket.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Elsa Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. Impossible not to recognize her tangled blonde hair. She didn't seem to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the balding receptionist to be free.

She was arguing with him in a low, velvety voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. She was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time—any other time.

This could not be about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I got to the Biology room. The look on her face must have been about some other problem. It was impossible that a stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. I wasn't interesting enough to be worth that strong of a reaction.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, waving through my hair. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Elsa Cullen's back stiffened, and she turned slowly to glare at me—her face was ridiculously perfect, not even one tiny flaw to make her seem human—with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt the oddest thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. As if she were going to pull a gun out and shoot me. The look only lasted a second, but it was colder than the freezing wind. She turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," she said quickly in a voice like silk. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And she turned on her heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went robotically to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed him the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Fine," I lied, my voice cracking. I could see I hadn't convinced him.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this wet, green hell. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to want the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, trying to think of nothing at all.


	2. open book

THE NEXT DAY WAS BETTER…AND WORSE.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and black. It was easier because I knew better what to expect of the day. McKayla came to sit by me in English, and walked with me to my next class, with Chess Club Erica glaring at her all the way there; that was kind of flattering. People didn't stare at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included McKayla, Erica, Jeremy, Allen, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I might be treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the rain beating on the house. It was worse because Ms. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't dodge out of the way of the ball, I hit two of my teammates in the head with one bad volley. And it was worse because Elsa Cullen wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was trying not to think about lunch, not wanting to remember those hate-filled stares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying awake in bed, I even imagined out what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. Maybe if she hadn't been so abnormally beautiful.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jeremy—trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her and totally failing—I saw that her four adopted siblings were sitting together at the same table as before, and she was not with them.

McKayla intercepted us and steered us to her table. Jeremy seemed thrilled by the attention, and his friends quickly joined us. I tried to tune into the conversations around me, but I was still uncomfortable, waiting for Elsa's arrival. I hoped that she would simply ignore me when she came, and prove that I was making a big deal out of nothing.

She didn't come, and I got more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn't showed. McKayla, who was starting to seem weirdly, I don't know, territorial about me, walked by my side to class. I hesitated for a second at the door, but Elsa Cullen wasn't here, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. McKayla followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang, then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a boy with braces and something close to a bowl cut

I didn't want to be arrogant, but I was pretty sure she was into me, which was a strange feeling. Girls hadn't noticed me much at home even tho i was sure there was bisexual or gay girls in my school. I wondered if I wanted her to like me. She was sort of pretty and everything, but her attention made me feel a little uncomfortable. Why was that? Because she'd picked me instead of the other way around? That was a stupid reason. Ego running wild, like it had to be my decision first. Still, it was not as stupid as the other possibility I'd thought of—I really hoped it wasn't because of the time I'd spent staring at Elsa Cullen yesterday, but I was kind of afraid that was it. Which was about the stupidest thing possible, really. If I based my reaction to a girl's looks off a face like Elsa's, I was doomed. That was fantasy, not reality.

I was glad that I had the desk to myself, that Elsa wasn't here. I told myself that again and again. Still, I couldn't get rid of this annoying feeling that I was the reason she was gone. It was ridiculous, and egotistical again, to think that I could affect anyone that much. It was impossible. But I couldn't stop worrying about it.

When the school day was finally done, and the patches of red were fading out of my face from the latest volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and heavy sweater. I rushed from the locker room, glad to find that I had successfully evaded McKayla for the moment. I hurried out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my backpack to make sure I still had what I needed.

It was no secret that Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. Last night, I'd requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to let me take over. A quick search revealed that he had no food in the house. So I had my grocery list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was headed to the Thriftway.

I gunned the thunderous engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins walking up to their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before—I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all wearing stuff that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Attractive as they all were, they could have worn garbage sacks and started a trend. It seemed like too much for them to have both looks and money. Though, as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look like it bought them any popularity here.

But I couldn't really believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn't imagine any door their beauty wouldn't open for them.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. Except they weren't anything like anyone else. I saw that the big blond guy—Royal, it must be. Figured. Anyway, Royal had his hand casually on the hip of the really tall girl with the dark curly hair, who looked like she was just as familiar with the weight room as he was. He had to be a good two inches taller than even I was, but he only had a half-inch on her. Though he was obviously pretty sure of himself, I was still kind of surprised he felt comfortable doing that. Not that she wasn't hot—she was super, mega hot—but not…approachable. Like, not even the Rock would dare to whistle at her, if you know what I mean. The blond girl caught me looking, and the way her eyes narrowed made me turn straight ahead and punch the gas. The truck didn't go any faster, the engine just grumbled even louder.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did most of the shopping at home, and I fell easily into the pattern of the familiar job. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, reorganizing the cupboards till everything was in a place that made sense. Charlie's system was kind of haphazard. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind, that he wasn't OCD about his kitchen the way I was. Once I was satisfied with the organization, I worked on the prep for dinner.

I kind of have a sixth sense about my mom. I realized, as I was sticking the marinade-covered steak into the fridge, that I hadn't let her know I'd made it yesterday. She was probably freaking out.

I ran up the stairs two at a time and fired up the old computer in my room. It took a minute to wheeze to life and then I had to wait for a connection. Once I was online, three messages showed up in my in-box. The first was from yesterday, while I was still en route.

"Anna," my mom wrote.

Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.

I sighed, and went to the next. It was sent six hours after the first.

Anna,

Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.

The last was from this morning.

Annalise Swan,

If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but Mom was known for jumping the gun.

Mom,

Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything crazy.

Anna.

I sent that, and then started the next, beginning with a lie.

Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some okay kids who sit by me at lunch.

Your shirt is at the dry cleaners—you were supposed to pick it up Friday.

Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? It's awesome. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.

I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.

Anna.

I heard the front door bang open, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Anna?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I moved around the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I'd come here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. Mom was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered. Charlie looked relieved.

He obviously felt awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Anna."

"Thanks."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't awkward. Both of us like quiet. In some ways, we were good roommates.

"So, how did you like school? Make any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with this guy named Jeremy. I sit with his friends at lunch. And there's this girl, McKayla, who's friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be McKayla Newton. Nice girl—nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

We ate in silence for a minute.

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. She's a great woman."

"They—the kids—are a little…different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

I was surprised to see Charlie's face get red, the way it does when he's angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary she gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have her—lucky that her husband wanted to live in a small town. She's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature—I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend.…Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing she's happily married. A lot of the hospital staff have a hard time concentrating on their work with her around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep fast, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the kids at school. In Gym, the people on my team learned not to send the ball my direction. I stayed out of their way.

Elsa Cullen didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched, pretending I wasn't looking, until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that McKayla was putting together. I was invited, and I agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.

By Friday I was totally comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Elsa would show. For all I knew, she'd dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn't totally erase the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks continued without incident. Charlie worked most of the time. I wrote my mom more fake cheerful e-mails, got ahead on my homework, and cleaned up the house—obviously OCD wasn't a problem for Charlie. I drove to the library Saturday, but I didn't even bother to get a card—there wasn't anything interesting I hadn't read; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon, and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got…and winced at the thought

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn't raining. In English, McKayla took her now-normal seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind was freezing against my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," McKayla said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ugh." Snow. There went my good day.

She looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"Snow means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

McKayla laughed. And then a big, wet ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Erica, who was walking away, her back toward us—in the wrong direction for her next class. McKayla had the same idea. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. The last thing I wanted was a wad of dirty ice melting down my neck the rest of the day.

She just nodded, her eyes on Erica's back.

I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Jeremy after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I had a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield. Jeremy thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me himself.

McKayla caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, her usually sleek hair turning frizzy from the wet. She and Jeremy were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

Jeremy pulled on my arm.

"Hey? Anna? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Anna?" McKayla asked Jeremy.

"Nothing," I answered. I grabbed a soda bottle as I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jeremy asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said.

He shuffled a few steps away from me.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to the table, my eyes anywhere but the back corner of the cafeteria.

I drank my soda slowly, stomach churning. Twice McKayla asked, with a concerned tone that seemed a little over the top, how I was feeling. I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. Why was I being such a coward? Was it so bad to be glared at? It wasn't like she was actually going to stab a knife in me.

I decided to allow myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. Just to read the mood.

I kept my head turned away and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I turned my head a little.

They were laughing. Elsa, Jessamine, and Eleanor all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Archie and Royal were leaning away as Eleanor flipped her dripping hair toward them, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of their jackets. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite figure out what that difference was. I examined Elsa, comparing her to my memory of last week. Her skin was less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. Her hair was darker, wet and slicked down against her head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn't staring as I tried to put my finger on the change.

"What are you staring at, Anna?" Jeremy asked.

At that precise moment, Elsa's eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I turned my head completely toward Jeremy, shifting my shoulders in his direction, too. Jeremy leaned away, surprised by my sudden invasion of his personal space.

I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes had met, that she didn't look angry or disgusted as she had the last time I'd seen her. She just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Elsa Cullen is staring at you," Jeremy said, looking over my shoulder.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" I couldn't help asking.

"No." Jeremy looked confused, then he suddenly smiled. "What did you do, ask her out are you gay to Anna?"

"No! I've never even talked to her. I just…don't think she likes me very much," I admitted. I kept my body angled toward Jeremy, but the back of my neck had goose bumps, like I could feel her eyes on me.

"The Cullens don't like anybody…well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But she's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at her," I insisted.

He snickered, but finally looked away.

McKayla interrupted us then—she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jeremy agreed enthusiastically. The way he looked at McKayla left little doubt that he would be up for anything she suggested. I kept silent. I wondered how many years I would have to live in Forks before I was bored enough to find frozen water exciting. Probably much longer than I planned to be here.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. Elsa didn't look like she was planning to murder me anymore, so it was no big thing to go to Biology. My stomach twisted at the thought of sitting next to her again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with McKayla as usual—she seemed to be a popular target for snowballs—but when we got to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

McKayla kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I was relieved that Elsq's chair was still empty. It gave me a minute to settle myself. Mrs. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class still had a few minutes before it started, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but I kept my eyes focused on the pattern I was drawing.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, shocked that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her hair was dripping wet, tangled—even so, she looked like she'd just finished shooting a commercial. Her perfect face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her full, pink lips. But her long eyes were careful.

"My name is Elsa Cullen," she continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Anna Swan."

My mind was whirling with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was totally polite now. I had to say something; she was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything normal to say.

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.

She laughed softly. "Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I frowned, though it wasn't as if I hadn't guessed as much.

"No," I persisted like an idiot. "I meant, why did you call me Anna?"

She seemed confused. "Do you prefer Annalise?"

"Absolutely not," I said. "But I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me that behind my back—that's what everyone here seemed to know me as." The more I tried to explain, the more moronic it sounded.

"Oh." She let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

Luckily, Mrs. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as she explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," she commanded.

"can i go first, partner?" Elsa asked. I looked up to see her smiling a dimpled smile so perfect that I could only stare at her like a fool.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Uh, sure, go ahead," I sputtered.

I saw her eyes flash to the splotches blooming across my cheeks. Why couldn't my blood just stay in my veins where it belonged?

She looked away sharply, yanking the microscope to her side of the table.

She studied the first slide for a quarter of a second—maybe less.

"Prophase."

She switched out the slide for the next, then paused and looked up at me.

"Or did you want to check?" she challenged.

"Uh, no, I'm good," I said.

She wrote the word Prophase neatly on the top line of our worksheet. Even her handwriting was perfect, like she'd taken classes in penmanship or something. Did anyone still do that?

She barely glanced through the microscope at the second slide, then wrote Anaphase on the next line, looping her A like it was calligraphy, like she was addressing a wedding invitation. I'd had to do the invitations for my mom's wedding. I'd printed the labels in a fancy script font that didn't look anything as elegant as Elsa's handwriting.

She moved the next slide into place, while I took advantage of her diverted attention to stare. So close up, you'd think I'd be able to see something—a hint of a pimple, a stray eyebrow hair, a pore, something—wrong with her. But there was nothing.

Suddenly her head flipped up, eyes to the front of the class, just before Mrs. Banner called out, "Miss Cullen?"

"Yes, Mrs. Banner?" Elsa slid the microscope toward me as she spoke.

"Perhaps you should let Ms. Swan have an opportunity to learn?"

"Of course, Mrs. Banner."

Elsa turned and gave me a well, go ahead then look.

I bent down to look through the eyepiece. I could sense she was watching—only fair, considering how I'd been ogling her—but it made me feel awkward, like just inclining my head was a clumsy move.

At least the slide wasn't difficult

Metaphase," I said.

"Do you mind if I look?" she asked as I started to remove the slide. Her hand caught mine, to stop me, as she was speaking. Her fingers were ice cold, like she'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When she touched me, it stung my hand like a low-voltage electric shock.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, quickly pulling her hand back, though she continued to reach for the microscope. I watched her, a little dazed, as she examined the slide for another tiny fraction of a second.

"Metaphase," she agreed, then slid the microscope back to me.

I tried to exchange slides, but they were too small or my fingers were too big, and I ended up dropping both. One fell on the table and the other over the edge, but Elsa caught it before it could hit the ground.

"Ugh," I exhaled, mortified. "Sorry."

"Well, the last is no mystery, regardless," she said. Her tone was right on the edge of laughter. Butt of the joke again.

Elsa calligraphied the words Metaphase and Telophase onto the last two lines of the worksheet.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see McKayla and her partner comparing two slides again and again, and another pair had their book open under the table.

Which left me with nothing to do but try not to look at her…unsuccessfully. I glanced down, and she was staring at me, that same strange look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly I identified that elusive difference in her face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out.

She seemed puzzled by my apropos-of-nothing question. "No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

She shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I knew there was something different. I had not forgotten one detail of that first time she'd glared at me like she wanted me dead. I could still see the flat black color of her eyes—so jarring against the background of her pale skin. Today, her eyes were a completely different color: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn't understand how that was possible, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. Her hands were clenched into fists again.

Mrs. Banner came to our table then, looking over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Elsa…," Mrs. Banner began.

"Anna identified half of the slides," Elsa said before Mrs. Banner could finish.

Mrs. Banner looked at me now; her expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," she said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." She mumbled something else I couldn't hear as she walked away. After she left, I started doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Elsa asked. I had the odd feeling that she was forcing herself to make small talk with me. It was like she had heard my conversation with Jeremy at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. Which was impossible. I was turning paranoid.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to shake the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate on putting up a socially acceptable front.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," she mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

She looked riveted by my response, for some reason I couldn't imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that—not straight out like she did, demanding.

"It's…complicated."

"I think I can keep up," she pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze. Her long, dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," she disagreed, but her tone was suddenly softer. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." I couldn't keep the sadness out of my voice.

"And you don't like him," Elsa guessed, her voice still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. A little young, maybe, but he's a good guy."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't understand her interest, but she continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.

"Phil travels most of the time. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" she asked, smiling in response, just enough for a hint of the dimples to show.

"Probably not. He doesn't play well. Just minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." She said it as an assumption again, not a question.

My hunched shoulders straightened automatically. "No, she didn't. I sent myself."

Her eyebrows pushed together. "I don't understand," she admitted, and she seemed more frustrated by that fact than she should be.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to her? She stared at me, waiting.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy…so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished.

"But now you're unhappy," she pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." She shrugged, but her eyes were still intense.

I laughed once. "Haven't you heard? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," she agreed dryly.

"So that's it," I insisted, wondering why she was still staring at me that way.

Her head tilted to the side, and her gold eyes seemed to laser right through the surface of my skin. "You put on a good show," she said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I shrugged. "I repeat…And?"

"I don't entirely understand you, that's all."

I frowned. "Why would you want to?"

"That's a very good question," she murmured, so quietly that I wondered if she was talking to herself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

It was awkward, just looking at each other, but she didn't look away. I wanted to keep staring at her face, but I was afraid she was wondering what was wrong with me for staring so much, so finally I turned toward the blackboard. She sighed.

I glanced back, and she was still looking at me, but her expression was different…a little frustrated, or irritated.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "Did I…Am I annoying you?"

She shook her head and smiled with half her mouth so that one dimple popped out. "No, if anything, I'm annoyed with myself."

"Why?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Reading people…it usually comes very easily to me. But I can't—I guess I don't know quite what to make of you. Is that funny?"

I flattened out my grin. "More…unexpected. My mom always calls me her open book. According to her, you can all but read my thoughts printing out across my forehead."

Her smile vanished and she half-glared into my eyes, not angry like before, just intense. As if she was trying hard to read that printout my mom had seen. Then, switching gears just as abruptly, she was smiling again.

"I suppose I've gotten overconfident."

I didn't know what to say to that. "Um, sorry?"

She laughed, and the sound was like music, though I couldn't think of the instrument to compare it to. Her teeth were perfect—no surprise there—and blinding white.

Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and I was relieved to give her my attention. It was a little too intense, making small talk with Elsa. I felt dizzy in a strange way. Had I really just detailed my boring life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who might or might not hate me? She'd seemed almost too interested in what I had to say, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that she was leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to focus as Mrs. Banner went through the lab with transparencies on the overhead projector, but my thoughts were far away from the lecture.

When the bell rang, Elsa rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her with my jaw hanging open.

McKayla got to my table almost as quickly.

"That was awful," she said. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Elsa for a partner."

"Yeah, she seemed to know her way around an onion root."

"She was friendly enough today," McKayla commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. She didn't sound happy about it.

I tried to make my voice casual. "I wonder what was with her last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on McKayla's chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E. didn't do much to hold my interest, either. McKayla was on my team today. She helpfully covered my position as well as her own, so I only had to pay attention when it was my turn to serve; my team knew to get out of the way when I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was still pretty damp when I got in the truck. I turned the heat up as high as it could go, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine.

As I looked around me to make sure the way was clear, I noticed the still, white figure. Elsa Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. The smile was gone, but at least so was the murder—for now, anyway. I looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my rush. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again. This time I made it. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but I could see enough in my peripheral vision to know that she was laughing


	3. phenomenon

WHEN I OPENED MY EYES IN THE MORNING, SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.

It was the light. It was still the gloomy light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog obscuring my window

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid—coating the needles on the trees in crazy patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.

Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself enjoying the space rather than feeling lonely.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that worried me. I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Elsa Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

Maybe a few of the other girls were intrigued by the novelty of the new kid, but Elsa wasn't a McKayla or an Erica. I was well aware that my league and her league were spheres that did not touch. I was already worried that just looking at her face was giving me unrealistic expectations that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Spending more time looking at her—watching her lips move, marveling at her skin, listening to her voice—was certainly not going to help with that. I didn't exactly trust her anyway—why lie about her eyes? And of course, there was the whole thing where she might have at one point wanted me dead. So I should definitely not be excited to see her again.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling on to the side mirror and save myself. The sidewalks at school would be complex today…so much potential for humiliation.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When I got out of my truck at school, I discovered why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck—carefully holding the side for support—to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck.

I frowned, surprised that my throat suddenly felt tight. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work. I probably should have been the one to think about putting chains on his tires, if I could figure out how to do that. Or at least I should have helped him with the chore. It wasn't his job.…

Except that, actually, it kind of was. He was the parent. He was taking care of me, his daughter. That was how it worked in books and on TV shows, but it made me feel upside down in a strange way.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to contain the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard a strange sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and almost as soon as I registered it, the sound was already painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail a few things all at once.

Elsa Cullen was standing four cars down from me, mouth open in horror. Her face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. Also, a dark blue van was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I realized I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.

"Come on!" She said the words so quickly I almost missed them, but the voice was impossible not to recognize.

Two thin, white hands shot out in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, her pale hands fitting exactly into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then her hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. There was a groaning metallic thud so loud it hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt—exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second. Then the screaming started. In the abrupt chaos, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Elsa Cullen's low, frantic voice in my ear.

"Anna? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized she was holding me against the side of her body. I must have been more traumatized than I realized, because I couldn't budge her arm at all. Was I weak with shock?

"Be careful," she warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.

"Ow," I said, surprised.

"That's what I thought." Nothing seemed funny to me, but it sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

"How in the…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Anna," she said, her voice suddenly serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time she helped me, but then she slid as far from me as she could in the limited space. I looked at her concerned, innocent expression, and was disoriented again by her gold-colored eyes. What was I asking her?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Taylor out of the van!" someone else shouted. There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Elsa's hand pushed my shoulder down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when she chuckled under her breath. There was an edge to the sound.

"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and her chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."

Her expression hardened abruptly. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." Everything around us was confusion. I could hear the lower voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I stubbornly held on to the argument; I was right, and she was going to admit it.

"Anna, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."

She stared at me, and something strange happened. It was like the gold of her eyes turned up, like her eyes were drugging me, hypnotizing me. It was devastating in a weird, exciting way. But her expression was anxious. I thought she was trying to communicate something crucial.

"But that's not what happened," I said weakly.

The gold in her eyes blazed again. "Please, Anna."

"Why?" I asked.

"Trust me?" she pleaded.

I could hear the sirens now. "Will you explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," she snapped, suddenly exasperated.

"Okay," I mumbled, unable to process her mood swings with everything else I was trying to come to terms with. What was I supposed to think, when what I remembered was impossible?

It took six EMTs and two teachers—Ms. Varner and Coach Clapp—to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Elsa insisted she hadn't been touched, and I tried to do the same, but she was quick to contradict me. She told them I'd hit my head, and then made it sound worse than it was, throwing around words like concussion and hemorrhage. I wanted to die when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Elsa got to ride in the front. It was a thousand times more humiliating than I'd imagined today would be, and I hadn't even made it to the sidewalk.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.

"Anna!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

"I'm completely fine, Char—Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

He rounded on the closest EMT for a second opinion. While the EMT tried to talk him down, I tuned them out to consider the jumble of absurd images churning in my head—images that were not possible. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper—a very distinct dent that fit the slim shape of Elsa's shoulders…as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame.…

And then there was her family, looking on from a distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval (Eleanor) to fury (Royal), but held no hint of concern for their little sister's safety.

I remembered the sensation of almost flying through the air…that hard mass that had pinned me to the ground…Elsa's hand under the frame of the van, like it was holding the van off the ground…

I tried to think of a logical explanation that could make sense of what I had just seen. All I could come up with was that I was having a psychotic episode. I didn't feel crazy, but maybe crazy people always felt sane.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Elsa simply glided through the hospital doors on her own.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the embarrassing neck brace anymore. As soon as the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Taylor Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around her head. Taylor looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But she was staring anxiously at me.

"Anna, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Taylor—you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding her bloody bandages, exposing dozens of shallow slices all over her forehead and left cheek.

She ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong.…" She winced as one nurse started dabbing at her face.

Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone.…"

"Umm…Elsa shoved me out of the way."

She looked confused. "Who?"

"Elsa Cullen—she was standing next to me." As usual, I didn't sound believable at all.

"Elsa? I didn't see her…wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"

"I think so. She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."

I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, harassed by Taylor's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince her I was fine, she continued to beg for forgiveness. Finally, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore her.

"Is she sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Elsa was standing at the foot of my bed, her expression more a smirk than a smile. I stared at her, trying to put the pieces together in my head. She didn't look like someone who could stop attacking vehicles with her bare hands. But then, she also didn't look like anyone I'd ever seen before.

"Hey, um, Elsa, I'm really sorry—" Taylor began.

Elsa lifted a hand to stop her.

"No blood, no foul," she said, flashing her bright white teeth. She moved to sit on the edge of Taylor's bed, facing me. She smirked again.

"So, what's the verdict?" she asked me.

"There's nothing wrong with me, but they won't let me go," I said. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," she answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. She was young, she was blond…and she was more beautiful than any movie star I'd ever seen. Like someone sliced up Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Marilyn Monroe, took the best parts, and glued them together to form one goddess. She was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under her dark eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Elsa's mom.

"So, Ms. Swan," Dr. Cullen asked in a gentle voice, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

She walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head, and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look good," she said. "Does your head hurt? Elsa said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick, questioning look Elsa's way. She avoided my eyes.

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. She noticed when I winced.

"Tender?" she asked.

"Not really." I'd had worse.

I heard a low laugh, and looked over to see Elsa smiling.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to play nurse.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I glanced at Elsa. "Does she get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Elsa said blithely.

"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Ugh," I moaned.

Dr. Cullen raised her eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly—I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. She was sturdier than she looked.

"I'm fine," I assured her again. No need to explain that my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," she suggested as she steadied me.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as she signed my chart with a flourish.

"Lucky Elsa just happened to be standing next to me," I amended, shooting another glance at the subject of my statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of her. Then she looked away, at Taylor, and walked to the next bed. It made me sure the doctor was in on it.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," she said to Taylor, and began checking her cuts.

As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Elsa's side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I whispered under my breath. She took a step back from me, her jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your father is waiting for you," she said through her teeth.

I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Taylor.

"I need to speak with you alone," I pressed.

She glared—but it wasn't the same as that first day, not nearly as homicidal, so I just waited. After a second, she turned her back and stalked quickly down the long room. Long as my legs are, I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, she spun around to face me

What do you want?" she asked, sounding annoyed. Her eyes were cold.

Her unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less certainty than I'd planned. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded her.

"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."

I flinched back from the resentment in her voice. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Anna, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." Her tone was cutting.

Her anger only made me more sure that I was right, though. "There's nothing wrong with my head."

She turned up the heat of her glare. "What do you want from me, Anna?"

"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you think happened?" she snapped.

It was harder to say the words out loud, where I could hear the crazy. It shook my conviction, but I tried to keep my voice even and calm.

"I know that you weren't standing next to me—Taylor didn't see you, either, so it's not concussion damage. That van was going to crush us both—but it didn't. It looked like your hands left dents in the side of it—and your shoulders left a dent in the other car, but you're not hurt at all. The van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up.…" It just kept sounding worse and worse. I couldn't continue.

She was staring at me, her eyes wide and incredulous. But she couldn't entirely hide the tension, the defensiveness.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" Her tone questioned my sanity, but there was something off. It was like a line delivered by a skilled actor—so hard to doubt, but at the same time, the frame of the movie screen reminded you nothing was actually real.

I just nodded once.

She smiled, hard and mocking. "Nobody will believe that, you know."

"I'm not going to tell anybody."

Surprise flitted across her face, and the smile faded. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," I said. "I don't like to lie—so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you," I said, and then folded my arms. Waiting.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Nope."

"In that case…I hope you enjoy disappointment."

She scowled at me, and I stared back, thoughts scattered by how beautiful her anger was. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being totally distracted. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

"If you were going to be like this about it," I said, "why did you even bother?"

She paused, and for a brief moment her perfect face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I don't know," she whispered.

And then she turned her back on me and walked away.

It took me a few minutes until I was able to move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was unpleasant, like I'd expected. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him, abruptly aggravated by the whole crazy situation.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Cullen saw me, and she said I was fine and I could go home." McKayla, Jeremy, and Erica were all there, beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

Charlie put one arm out toward me, like he thought I needed support. I retreated quickly toward the exit doors, waving halfheartedly at my friends. Hopefully they would forget about this by tomorrow.

Unlikely.

It was a huge relief—the first time I'd ever felt that way—to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Elsa's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I'd seen.

When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

"Um…you'll need to call Renée." He hung his head, guilty.

I was appalled. "You told Mom?"

"Sorry."

I slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than necessary on my way out.

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home—forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment—but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Elsa presented. And more than a little obsessed with Elsa herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.

I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.

That was the first night I dreamed about Elsa Cullen


	4. invitations

IN MY DREAM IT WAS VERY DARK, AND WHAT DIM LIGHT THERE WAS seemed to be radiating from Elsa's skin. I couldn't see her face, just her back as she walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. I got more and more frantic to get to her, until that anxiety woke me. It was the middle of the night, but I couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the edges, never within reach

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.

I found myself the center of attention for the rest of the week, which really sucked. Taylor Crowley was super annoying, following me around, coming up with different hypothetical ways to make it up to me. I tried to convince her that what I wanted more than anything else was for her to forget about it—especially since nothing had actually happened to me—but she wouldn't give up. She found me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. McKayla and Erica didn't seem to like that; they flashed more side-eye at her than they did at each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan. Like being into the new kid was the latest fad.

No one was worried about Elsa—no one followed her around or asked for her eyewitness account. I always included her in my version; she was the hero—she had pulled me out of the way and nearly been crushed, too, but all anyone ever said was that they hadn't even realized she was there until the van was pulled away.

I wondered a lot about why no one else had noticed her standing so far away by her car, before she was suddenly and impossibly saving my life. There was only one solution I could think of, and I didn't like it. It had to be because no one else was so aware of Elsa. No one watched her the way I did. It was pathetic, and kind of stalkerish.

People avoided Elsa the same way they usually did. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table they always sat at, not eating, talking only to each other. None of them ever glanced my way anymore.

When Elsa sat beside me in class, as far away as possible, like usual, she seemed totally unaware that I was sitting there next to her. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched even whiter over her knuckles—did I wonder if she wasn't as entirely oblivious as she seemed.

I wanted very much to continue our conversation from the hospital hallway, and the day after the accident I tried. She'd been so furious when we talked before. And, even though I really wanted to know what had actually happened and I thought I deserved the truth, I also knew I had been pretty pushy, considering that she had just saved my life and all. I didn't think I'd thanked her properly.

She was already in her chair when I got to Biology. She didn't turn when I sat down, just kept staring straight ahead. She showed no sign that she knew I was there.

"Hey, Elsa" I said.

She turned her head half an inch toward me, but her eyes stayed focused on the blackboard. She gave me one little half-nod, then turned her face away from me.

And that was the last contact I'd had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself—always from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as her golden eyes grew noticeably darker day by day (then abruptly, they were honey-colored again. And the slow progression toward black would start over). But in class I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed toward me. It was miserable. And the dreams continued.

She wished she hadn't pushed me out of the way of Taylor's van. I couldn't think of any other explanation. Since she obviously preferred me dead, she was pretending that I was.

Despite my outright lies, the tone of my e-mails got my mom worked up. She called a few times, demanding to know I was okay. I tried to convince her it was just the rain that had me down.

McKayla, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between my lab partner and me. I guessed she'd been worried that the shared trauma would have bonded us or something. She got more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Elsa as completely as Elsa ignored us.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. McKayla complained that she'd never gotten to stage her big snowball fight, but she was happy that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

I hadn't really been aware of how much time was passing. Most days looked the same—gray, green, and more gray. My stepdad had always complained that Phoenix didn't have seasons, but as far as I could tell, Forks was much worse. I had no idea spring was anywhere near appearing until I was walking to the cafeteria with Jeremy one rainy morning.

"Hey, Anna?" he asked.

I wanted to hurry out of the rain, but Jeremy was barely shuffling forward. I slowed my pace to match his.

"What's up, Jeremy?"

"I was just wondering if anyone's asked you to the spring dance yet. You know, it's girls' choice."

"Oh. Um, no."

"Huh. Do you want…I mean, do you think McKayla will ask you?"

"I hope not," I said, maybe a little too fast.

He looked up at me, surprised. "Why not?"

"I don't do dances."

"Oh."

We shuffled forward for a minute in silence. He was thoughtful. I was impatient to get out of the drizzle.

"Do you mind if I tell her that?" he asked. She told me she's bi and well I do like her but you don't like her do you.

"No. and That's probably a good idea. I don't want to have to tell anyone no if I don't have to."

"Okay."

"When's the dance again?"

We were close to the cafeteria now. He pointed to a bright yellow poster advertising the dance. I'd never noticed it before, but it was curling around the edges and a little washed out, like it had been up for a while.

"A week from Saturday," he said.

I was pretty sure Jeremy had already said something when, the next morning, McKayla was not her usual bubbly self in English. At lunch she sat away from both Jeremy and me, and she didn't say much to anyone. She stayed quiet as she walked with me to Biology, but she came over like usual to sit on the edge of my lab table. As always, I was too aware of Elsa sitting close enough to touch, but still so far away she might as well have been a product of my imagination

So," McKayla said, looking at the floor instead of at me. "Jeremy said that you don't do dances."

"Yeah, that's true."

She looked at me then, her expression hurt and a little angry. I hadn't even told her no yet, and I already felt guilty.

"Oh," she said. "I thought maybe he was making it up."

"Uh, sorry, no. Why would he make up a story like that?"

She frowned. "I think he wants me to ask him."

I forced a smile. "You should. Jeremy's great."

She shrugged. "I guess." Then she took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye with a quick, nervous smile. "Would this 'I don't dance' thing change if I was the one asking you to go?"like go just as friends she added quickly blushing

From the corner of my eye, I saw Elsa's head suddenly tilt in my direction. Like she was listening to my answer, too.

It took me a little too long to respond. I still felt guilty, but mostly distracted. Was Elsa listening?

"Um, sorry, again."

McKayla's face fell. "Would it change if someone else asked you?"

Did Elsa see how McKayla's eyes flickered in her direction?

"No. It's a moot point anyway. I'm going to be in Seattle that day." I needed to get out of town—two Saturdays from now was the perfect time to go.

"Does it have to be that weekend?" McKayla asked.

"Yeah. But don't worry about me. You should take Jeremy. He's much more fun than I am."

"Yeah, I guess," she mumbled, and she turned to walk back to her seat. I watched her shoulders slump forward, and I felt horrible. I closed my eyes and pushed my fingers against my temples, trying to force McKayla's dejected posture out of my head. Mrs. Banner started talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

Elsa was staring straight at me, that familiar expression of frustration even more obvious now in her black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look away. She didn't. Her eyes kept boring into mine, like she was trying to find something really important inside them. I continued to stare also, totally unable to break the connection, even if I wanted to. My hands started to shake.

"Miss Cullen?" the teacher called, looking for the answer to some question I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs Cycle," Elsa answered, seeming reluctant as she turned to look at Mrs. Banner.

I put my head down, pretending to stare at my book, as soon as her eyes released me. It bothered me—the rush of emotion pulsing through me, just because she'd happened to look at me for the first time in six weeks. It wasn't normal. It was actually pretty pathetic, and probably more than that. Unhealthy.

I tried hard not to be aware of her for the rest of the class, or, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell finally rang, I turned away from her to stack up my books, expecting her to rush out as usual.

"Anna?"

Her voice shouldn't sound so familiar, like I'd been hearing it all my life instead of just an hour here and there a few weeks ago.

I turned slowly toward her, not wanting to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. I'm sure my expression was guarded; hers was unreadable. She didn't say anything.

"Yes?" I asked.

She just looked at me.

"So…um, are you…or are you not talking to me again?"

"Not," she said, but her lips curled up into a smile, her dimples flashing.

"Okay…" I looked away—down at my hands, then over toward the chalkboard. It was hard to concentrate when I looked at her, and this conversation wasn't making much sense.

"I'm sorry," she said, and there was no joke in her voice now. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

I looked at her again; her expression was totally serious now.

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's better if we're not friends," she explained. "Trust me."

My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that one before.

She seemed surprised by my reaction. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I guess…that it's too bad you didn't figure this out earlier, saved yourself the regret."

"Regret?" My answer seemed to have caught her off guard. "Regret for what?"

"For not letting Taylor's van crush me when it had the chance."

She looked completely shocked. She stared at me for a minute, wide-eyed, and when she finally spoke she almost sounded mad.

"You think I regret saving your life?" The words were quiet, just under her breath, but still pretty intense.

I glanced quickly toward the front of the room, where a couple of kids were still lingering. I caught one of them looking at us. He looked away and I turned back to Elsa.

"Yeah," I said, just as quietly. "I mean, what else? Seems kind of obvious."

She made the strangest sound—she exhaled through her teeth and it was like a hiss. She still looked mad.

"You're an idiot," she told me.

Well, that was my limit.

It was bad enough that I was so fixated on this girl, bad enough that I thought about her all the time, dreamed about her every night. I didn't need to sit here like the moron she thought I was and just stare while she insulted me. I grabbed my books and lurched out of my chair, knowing all the while that she was right—I was an idiot, because I wanted to stay, even if all I got to hear was more abuse from her. I needed to get out of the room as fast as possible, so of course, I tripped over the threshold and half-fell through the doorway, my books scattering across the sidewalk. I stood there for a second with my eyes closed, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up.

Elsa was there; she'd already stacked them in a pile, which she offered to me.

I took them without really looking at her.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"You're welcome," she answered. Still mad, sounded like.

I straightened up, and hurried to Gym without looking back.

Gym didn't make my day any better. We'd moved on to basketball. On the first day, even though all of them had seen me play volleyball, the other kids still seemed to think I should be good. It didn't take them long to figure out the truth. They never passed to me now, which was good, but with all the running I still managed to have a few accidents per game. Today was worse than yesterday, because I couldn't concentrate on my feet. All I could think of was Elsa.

It was a relief, as usual, when I was finally free to leave. I couldn't wait to be back inside my truck, alone. The truck was in pretty decent shape, all things considered. I'd had to replace the taillights after the accident, but that was it. If the paint job weren't already hopeless, maybe I would have had to do something about the new scrapes. Taylor's parents had to sell her van for parts.

I rounded the corner and nearly had a heart attack. Someone small and thin was leaning against the side of my truck. I skidded to a stop, then took a deep breath. It was just Erica. I started walking again.

"Hey, Erica," I called.

"Hi, Anna."

"What's up?" I asked as I went to unlock the door. I glanced down at her, and fumbled my keys. She looked really uncomfortable.

"Um, I was wondering if you would go to the spring dance with me ?"like I am bi and well I heard you are into girls and I really like you Anna I hope you will give me a chance .

I carefully inserted the car key into the lock.

"Sorry, Erica, I'm not going to the dance."

I had to look at her then. Her face was down, her black hair hiding her eyes.

"Oh, okay."

"Because I'm going to be in Seattle," I said quickly, trying to make her feel better. "It's the only day I can go. So, you know, oh well. I hope it's fun and all."

She glanced up from under her hair. "Okay," she repeated, but her voice was slightly more cheerful now. "Maybe next time."

"Sure," I agreed, and then immediately regretted it. Hopefully she wouldn't take that too literally.

"See ya," she said over her shoulder. She was already escaping. I waved, but she didn't see it.

I heard a low laugh.

Elsa was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, her mouth not betraying even the hint of a smile.

I froze for a second. I wasn't prepared to be so close to her. I was used to bracing myself before Biology, but this was unexpected. She kept walking. I jerked the door open and climbed in, slamming it a little too hard behind me. I revved the deafening engine twice and reversed out into the aisle. Elsa was in her car already, two spaces down, sliding out into the lane in front of me, cutting me off. She stopped there—to wait for her family, I assumed. I could see the four of them walking this way, but they were still all the way back by the cafeteria. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Right behind me, Taylor Crowley was in her newly acquired used Sentra, waving. I ducked my head and pretended I couldn't see her.

While I was sitting there, focusing all my efforts on not staring at the driver in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. It was Taylor. I glanced in my mirror again, confused. Her Sentra was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway there, then gave up.

"Sorry, Taylor, I can't move. I'm pinned in." I gestured to the Volvo. Obviously there was nothing I could do.

"Oh, I know—I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." She grinned.

What was with this school? Was this some kind of practical joke? Hazing the new gay girl?

"Will you go to the spring dance with me?" she continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Taylor besides you're straight why are you asking me to the dance." I realized I sounded too sharp. I had to remember it wasn't Taylor's fault that McKayla and Erica had already used up my patience.

"Yeah, McKayla told me that," she admitted.And yes I am straight but I haven't seen any guys ask you and I figured you shouldn't go alone.

I ignored her last comment "if McKayla told you Then why—"

She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy."

Okay, it was totally her fault.

"Sorry, Taylor," I said, not feeling nearly as bad as I had with McKayla and Erica. "I'm not going to the dance ."

"That's cool," she said, unfazed. "We still have prom."

Before I could say anything, she was walking back to her car. I could feel the red patches staining my face. Straight ahead, Archie, Royal, Eleanor, and Jessamine were all sliding into the Volvo. In the rearview mirror, I could see Elsa's eyes—staring at me. They were crinkled around the edges, and her shoulders were shaking with laughter. It was like she'd heard everything Taylor had said, and found my splotchy reaction hilarious. I revved my engine, wondering how much damage it would do to the Volvo and the black car beside it if I just muscled my way through and made my escape. I was pretty sure my truck could win that fight.

But they were all in, and Elsa was speeding away with her nearly silent engine.

I tried to concentrate on something else—anything else—as I drove home. Would McKayla ask Jeremy to the dance? Would he blame me if she didn't? Was Taylor serious about the prom? What would be my excuse for that one? Maybe I could work out a visit to my mom, or maybe she could come here. What was I going to make for dinner? We hadn't had chicken in a while.

But each time I finished answering my own question, my mind went right back to Elsa.

By the time I got home, I'd run out of new questions, so I gave up trying to think about something else. I decided to make chicken enchiladas because it would keep me busy for a while and I didn't have that much homework. It also forced me to concentrate on all the dicing—chicken, chilies, onions. All the while, though, I kept running through Biology class again, trying to analyze every word she'd spoken to me. What did she mean, it was better if we weren't friends?

My stomach dropped when I realized the only thing she could have meant. She must know how obsessed I was with her—it wasn't like I was hiding it very well. She didn't want to lead me on because she probably wasn't gay like me…so we couldn't even be friends…because she didn't want to hurt my feelings the way I'd hurt McKayla and Erica today. (Taylor seemed fine.) Elsa didn't want to have to feel that guilt. Because she wasn't interested in me at all.

Which made perfect sense, obviously, because I wasn't interesting.

My eyes were starting to sting and tear from the onions. I grabbed a dish towel, ran it under the faucet, and then rubbed it across my eyes. It didn't really help.

I was boring—I knew this about myself. And Elsa was the opposite of boring. This wasn't about her secret, whatever it was, if I even remembered any of that insane moment clearly. At this point, I almost believed the story I'd told everyone else. It made a lot more sense than what I thought I'd seen.

But she didn't need a secret to be out of my league. She was also brilliant and mysterious and beautiful and completely perfect. If she was, in fact, able to lift a full-sized van with one hand, it really didn't matter. Either way, she was fantasy and I was the very most mundane kind of reality.

And that was fine. I could leave her alone. I would leave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship.

I tried to think about palm trees and sun while I finished dinner.

Charlie seemed worried when he came home and smelled the green peppers, but he came around after the first bite. It was kind of a strange feeling, but also a good feeling, watching as he started to trust me in the kitchen.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Anna?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle a week from Saturday. Just for the day." I didn't want to ask permission—it set a bad precedent—but the statement form sounded rude, so I added, "If that's okay?"

"Why?" He sounded surprised, like he couldn't imagine any reason that would make someone want to leave Forks's town limits.

"Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited. And maybe some warmer clothes." I had a little extra money, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to buy a car—though the truck did need a bigger gasoline budget than I'd expected—and the cold-weather clothes I'd picked up in Phoenix seemed to have been designed by people who'd never actually lived in temperatures below seventy but had once had such a climate described to them.

"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.

"I know, I'll stop in Montessano and Olympia—and Tacoma if I have to."

"Are you going all by yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Seattle is a big city—you could get lost," he warned.

"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle—and I can read a map, don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I wondered if he was really that worried about me, or if he just thought all the Saturdays he left me alone were adding up to neglect. Probably worried. I was sure that, in his head, he still pictured me as a five-year-old most of the time.

"That's okay. It's not going to be very exciting."

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

I just stared back at him until he got it.

It didn't take him long. "Oh, right."

"Yeah," I said. I didn't get my balance issues from my mom.

The next morning at school, I parked as far as possible from the shiny silver Volvo. I would keep my distance. I wouldn't notice her anymore. She'd have nothing to complain about from here on out.

As I slammed the truck door shut, I lost my hold on the key and it splashed down in a puddle at my feet. As I bent to retrieve it, a pale hand flashed out and grabbed it first. I jerked upright, almost smacking my head into her. Elsa Cullen was right there, leaning casually against my truck.

"How do you do that?" I gasped.

"Do what?" She held out my key while she spoke. As I reached for it, she dropped it in my palm.

"Appear out of thin air?"

"Anna, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." Her voice was just a murmur, muted velvet, and her lips were holding back a smile. Like she thought I was hilarious.

How was I supposed to ignore her when she wouldn't ignore me? That was what she wanted, right? Me, out of her long, blonde hair? Wasn't that what she'd said to me yesterday? We couldn't be friends. Then why was she talking to me? Was she sadistic? Was this her idea of fun—torture the idiotic kid she could never possibly care about?

I stared at her, frustrated. Her eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. My thoughts got confused, and I had to look down. Her feet were just a half-foot from mine, oriented toward me, unmoving. Like she was waiting for a response.

I looked past her, toward the school, and said the first dumb things that came into my mind. "Why the traffic jam last night? I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist."

"Ah. That was for Taylor's sake. She was figuratively dying for her chance at you."

I blinked. "What?" Irritation from yesterday's memory bled into my voice. I hadn't thought Elsa and Taylor were friends. Did Taylor ask her…? That didn't seem likely.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," she continued like I hadn't spoken.

I met her eyes again, trying hard to keep my mind focused, no matter how golden they seemed, or how long her lashes were against her pale violet lids.

"I don't know what you want from me," I told her.

It was annoying how my thoughts seemed to explode straight through my lips when I was near her, like I had no filter at all. I would never have spoken this way to another girl.

The amused half-smile disappeared, and her face was suddenly guarded.

"Nothing," she said too quickly, almost like she was lying.

"Then you probably should have let the van take me out. Easier that way."

She stared for a second, and when she answered, her voice was cold. "Anna, you are utterly absurd."

I must be right about the torture thing. I was just a way for her to pass time in this boring town. An easy mark.

I was past her in one long stride.

"Wait," she said, but I forced myself to keep moving, not to look back.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," she said, somehow right next to me, keeping pace though my legs were probably twice as long as hers. "I'm not saying it wasn't true, but it was rude to say it out loud."

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me."

I sighed and slowed, though she didn't seem like she was having a hard time keeping up. "Fine." I was such a sucker. "What do you want?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"

I stopped, wheeling to look down at her. "Is this funny to you?"

She stared up at me, seeming oblivious to the drizzling rain that was falling. She was apparently wearing no makeup at all—nothing smudged or ran. Of course, her face was just that perfect naturally. For a second, I was actually angry—angry that she had to be so beautiful. Angry that her beauty had made her cruel. Angry that I was the object of her cruelty, and even though I knew it, I still couldn't successfully walk away from her.

Her amused expression was back, the hint of dimples threatening on her cheeks.

"Will you please allow me to finish?" she asked.

Walk away, I told myself.

I didn't move.

"I heard that you were going to Seattle that day, and I wondered if you wanted a ride."

That was not what I was expecting.

"Huh?"

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

I wasn't sure where her joke was heading now. "With who?"

"Myself, obviously." She enunciated every syllable, like she thought maybe English wasn't my first language.

"Why?" Where was the punch line?

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

Finally, I was able to start walking again, goaded by the insult to my truck.

"Make fun of me all you want, but leave the truck out of it," I said.

Again, she kept up easily. "Why would you think that I'm making fun of you?" she asked. "The invitation is genuine."

"My truck is great, thanks."

"Can your truck make it to Seattle on one tank of gas?"

Before the truck, I'd never cared one way or another about any car, but I could feel a prejudice against Volvos forming.

"I don't see how that's your problem."

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's problem," she said primly.

"Seriously, Elsa." I felt a charge go through me as I said her name aloud, and I didn't like it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, wow, great, so that's all cleared up." Thick sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. I looked down at her rain-washed face, clean and perfect, and my thoughts stuttered to a halt.

"It would be more…prudent for you not to be my friend," she explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Anna."

There was no humor in her face now. Her eyes were intense, narrowed, the long lines of her lashes stark black against her skin. Her voice had a strange heat to it. I couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Will you accept a ride with me to Seattle?" she demanded, voice still burning.

I couldn't speak, so I just nodded.

A quick smile reshaped her face, and then she was serious again.

"You really should stay away from me," she warned. "I'll see you in class."

She spun on her heel and then walked quickly back the way we'd come

**so guys please review and my version is going to be alot different than the other version trust me but anyway ive got all the chapters written and i am publishing them so i can do the sequel anyway again please please review**


	5. blood type

I WALKED TO ENGLISH IN A KIND OF DAZE. I DIDN'T REALIZE WHEN I first came through the door that class had already started.

Ms. Mason's irritated voice was my first clue. "Thank you for joining us, Ms. Swan

Patches of red formed on my face as I hurried to my seat.

It wasn't until class was over that I noticed McKayla wasn't sitting next to me like she usually did, and I remembered that I had hurt her feelings. But she and Erica waited at the door for me, so I hoped that meant I would be forgiven eventually. As we walked, McKayla seemed to become herself again, getting more enthusiastic as she talked about the weather report for the weekend. The rain was supposed to take a short break, so her beach trip would be possible. I tried to match her enthusiasm to make up for disappointing her yesterday, but I could tell I wasn't fooling either of them. Rain or no rain, we would be lucky if the temperature even got close to fifty degrees. Not my idea of a beach day.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was hard to believe I wasn't imagining things again—that Elsa really had said those words, and that her eyes had looked that way when she was saying them. Something about her confused my reality. First I'd thought I'd seen her stop a van barehanded, and now this. The original delusion seemed more likely than the second—that I appealed to her on any level. But here I was, walking into this one with eyes wide open, and I didn't even care that the punch line was coming. At the moment, it seemed like a decent trade—her laughter later for that look in her eyes now.

I was both eager and nervous when I finally got to the cafeteria at lunchtime. Would she ignore me like usual? Would there be any sign from her that the conversation this morning had, in fact, happened? With a small percentage of my brain I listened to Jeremy. McKayla had asked him to the dance, and they were going to go with a few others—Allen and Erica, Logan and Taylor. I think I grunted in the right places, because he didn't seem to notice how little of my attention I was giving him.

My eyes went straight to her table as soon as I was through the door, and then disappointment hit like a punch to the gut. There were only four people there, and Elsa wasn't one of them. Was she going to disappear every time something significant happened?

Of course, the conversation this morning was only significant to me, I was sure.

I lost my appetite. I grabbed a bottle of lemonade for something to carry and followed Jeremy robotically through the line, wishing I were the kind of person who could just go home early, the kind who didn't worry about unexcused absences and detention and disappointed parental figures.

"Elsa Cullen is staring at you again," Jeremy said. I was one hundred percent paying attention as soon as he said her name. "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up and I quickly followed his line of sight. Elsa was sitting at an empty table across the cafeteria from where she usually sat. Her dimples flashed as soon as she knew I'd seen her. She raised one hand and motioned with her index finger for me to join her. As I stared, not entirely believing my own eyes, she winked.

"Does she mean you?" Jeremy asked. There was an insult in his astonishment, but I was past caring.

"Um, maybe she needs help with her Biology homework," I muttered. "I guess I should go see what she wants."

I could feel Jeremy staring after me as I walked away. I could also feel those ugly splotches of red start up my neck, and tried to calm myself.

When I got to her table I just stood there behind the chair across from her, awkward.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" she suggested through a wide smile.

I sat down automatically, watching her expression. Was this how the joke ended? She hadn't stopped smiling. I found that I still didn't care. Whatever got me more time this close to her.

She stared back at me, still smiling. Did she want me to say something?

"This is, uh, different," I finally managed.

"Well," she said, and then paused. I could tell there was more, so I waited. The rest of it followed in a rush, the words blurring together so that it took me a minute to decipher the meaning. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

I kept waiting, thinking she would explain, but she didn't. The silence got more uncomfortable as the seconds passed.

"You know I don't understand what you mean, right?" I asked.

"I'm counting on it," she said, and then her eyes focused behind me. "I think your friends are upset that I've stolen you."

Suddenly I could feel all their eyes boring into my back. For once, it didn't bother me at all.

"They'll survive."

She grinned. "I may not give you back, though."

I swallowed too loud and she laughed.

"You look worried," she said.

"No." I stopped to swallow again, hearing the edge of a break in my voice. "But surprised, yes. What's this all about?" I gestured toward her and the rest of the empty table.

"I told you—I'm tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." The smile was fading, and her eyes were serious by the end.

"Giving up?" I repeated.

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." The smile disappeared completely, and a hard edge crept into her silky voice.

"You lost me again."

It looked like she found that funny. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry—I don't understand anything you say."

"Like I said—I'm counting on that."

We stared at each other for a few seconds, but the quiet wasn't awkward this time. It was more…charged. My face started to get hot again.

"So," I said, looking away so that I could catch my breath. "In plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…," she murmured. She sounded like it wasn't her favorite word.

"Or not," I offered.

"Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you again that I'm not a good friend for you to have." Her smile was brittle now, the warning real.

"You say that a lot." Funny how my stomach was rolling. Was it because I was hungry after all? Because she was smiling at me? Or because I suddenly almost believed her? I could tell that she believed what she was saying.

"I do, because you're not listening. I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

Then I had to smile, and I watched as her smile automatically got bigger in response. "I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm an idiot. Or absurd, or whatever."

"I did apologize—for the second one, at least. Will you forgive me for the first? I spoke without thinking."

"Yeah, of course. You don't have to apologize to me."

She sighed. "Don't I?"

I didn't know how to answer—it sounded like a rhetorical question anyway. I stared down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do. It was so strange to sit with her here—like normal people. I was sure only one of us was normal.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

I looked up. She was staring again, her gold eyes curious and—like the first time I'd seen her—frustrated. Once again, my thoughts refused to pass through the appropriate filter.

"I'm wondering what you are."

Her smile tightened, like her teeth were suddenly clamped together, but she held it carefully in place.

"Are you having much luck with that?" Her voice was casual, like she didn't really care about my answer.

My neck got hot and—I assumed—unattractively blotchy. During the last month I'd given it some thought, but the only solutions I could come up with were completely ridiculous. Like Clark Kent and Peter Parker–level nonsense.

She tilted her head to the side, staring into my eyes as if she was trying to see through them, right into my brain. She smiled—inviting this time, impossible to resist.

"Won't you tell me?"

But I had to try to resist. She already thought I was an idiot. I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's really frustrating," she complained.

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows. "Like…someone refusing to tell you what she's thinking, even if all the while she's making cryptic little comments designed to keep you up at night wondering what she could possibly mean…Frustrating like that?"

She frowned, her lips pouting out in a distracting way. I worked to hold on to my focus.

"Or is it frustrating like, say, she's done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised? Frustrating like that?"

Her frown twitched, then settled into a deeper scowl. "You're really not over that yet?"

"Not quite yet."

"Would another apology help?"

"An explanation would be better."

She pursed her lips, then glanced past my left arm and laughed once.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend thinks I'm being mean to you—she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight."

"I don't have a girlfriend, and you're trying to change the subject."

She ignored the second half of my statement. "You might not think of her that way, but it's how she thinks of you."

"There's no way that's true."

"It is. I told you, most people are very easy to read."

"Except me."

"Yes, except for you." Her eyes shifted to me and intensified, drilling into mine. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked.

Her stare was less penetrating now, I saw with relief. "No." I didn't think it was necessary to mention that my stomach wasn't steady enough for food. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of her.

"No, I'm not hungry." She smiled like I was missing some inside joke.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked, the words escaping before I could make sure they were allowed.

She got serious quickly. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I promised.

She waited, still guarded but clearly curious.

"Could you warn me beforehand? The next time you decide to ignore me? For my own good, or whatever. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade again as I asked, tracing the lip of the opening with one finger.

"That sounds fair."

She looked like she was trying not to laugh when I glanced up.

"Thanks."

"Can I have a favor in return?" she asked.

"Sure." It was my turn to be curious. What would she want from me?

"Tell me one of your theories."

Whoops. "No way."

"You promised me a favor."

"And you've broken promises before," I reminded her.

"Just one theory—I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." I had no doubt about that.

She looked down, then glanced up at me through her thick lashes, her long gold eyes scorching underneath.

"Please?" she breathed, leaning toward me. Without permission, my body leaned closer to her, like she was a magnet and I was a paper clip, till her face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went totally blank.

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and forced myself to sit back. "Um…what?"

"One little theory," she purred. "Please?"

"Well, er, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

She rolled her eyes. "That's not very creative."

"Sorry, that's all I've got."

"You're not even close."

"No spiders?"

"No spiders."

"No radioactivity?"

"None at all."

"Huh," I mumbled.

She chuckled. "Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either."

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

She pressed her lips together, but her shoulders shook from holding the laughter back.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I muttered.

Her humor vanished like a switch flipped off. "I wish you wouldn't try."

"How can I not wonder? I mean…you're impossible." I didn't say it like a criticism, just a statement. You are not possible. You are more than what is possible.

She understood. "But what if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the villain?" She smiled as she said this, playfully, but her eyes were heavy with some burden I couldn't imagine.

"Oh," I said, surprised. Her many hints started adding up until they finally made sense. "Oh, okay."

She waited, suddenly rigid with stress. In that second, all of her walls seemed to disappear.

"What exactly does okay mean?" she asked so quietly it was almost a whisper.

I tried to order my thoughts, but her anxiety pushed me to answer faster. I said the words without preparing them first.

"You're dangerous?" It came out like a question, and there was doubt in my voice. She was smaller than I was, no more than my age, and delicately built. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed at applying the word dangerous to someone like her. But she was not normal, and there was no one like her. I remembered the first time she'd glared at me with hate in her eyes, and I'd felt genuinely afraid, though I hadn't understood that reaction in the moment, and I'd thought it foolish just seconds later. Now I understood. Under the doubt, outside the incongruity of the word dangerous applied to her slim and perfect body, I could feel the truth of the foundation. The danger was real, though my logical mind couldn't make sense of it. And she'd been trying to warn me all along.

"Dangerous," I murmured again, trying to fit the word to the person in front of me. Her porcelain face was still vulnerable, without walls or secrets. Her eyes were wide now, anticipating my reaction. She seemed to be bracing herself for some kind of impact. "But not the villain," I whispered. "No, I don't believe that."

"You're wrong." Her voice was almost inaudible. She looked down, reaching out to steal the lid for my lemonade, which she then spun like a top between her fingers. I took advantage of her inattention to stare some more. She meant what she was saying—that was obvious. She wanted me to be afraid of her.

What I felt most was…fascinated. There were some nerves, of course, being so close to her. Fear of making a fool of myself. But all I wanted was to sit here forever, to listen to her voice and watch the expressions fly across her face, so much faster than I could analyze them. So of course that was when I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I shoved my chair away from the table, and she looked up. She seemed…sad. But resigned. Like this was the reaction she'd been waiting for.

"We're going to be late," I told her, scrambling to my feet.

She was surprised for just a second, and then the now-familiar amusement was back.

"I'm not going to class today." Her fingers twirled the lid so fast that it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

She smiled up at me, but her eyes were not entirely disguised. I could still see the stress behind her façade.

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then," she said.

"Oh. Well, I guess…I should go?" Was there another option? I wasn't much for ditching, but if she asked me to…

She turned her attention back to her makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

That sounded like a dismissal, and I wasn't totally against being dismissed. There was so much to think about, and I didn't do my best thinking with her near. The first bell rang and I hurried to the door. I glanced back once to see that she hadn't moved at all, and the lid was still spinning in a tight circle like it would never stop.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning just as fast. So few questions had been answered—none, really, when I thought through it—but so many more had been raised.

I was lucky; the teacher wasn't in the room when I ran in late, face hot. Both Allen and McKayla were staring at me—Allen with surprise, almost awe, and McKayla with resentment

Mrs. Banner made her entrance then, calling the class to order while juggling a bunch of cardboard boxes in her hands. She let the boxes fall onto McKayla's table, and asked her to start passing them around the class.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," she said as she produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of her lab coat and pulled them on. The crack as the gloves snapped into place was strangely ominous. "The first should be an indicator card," she went on, grabbing a white card about the size of an index card and displaying it to us; it had four squares marked on it instead of lines. "The second is a four-pronged applicator"—she held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick—"and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." She displayed a small piece of blue plastic before splitting it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach plunged.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you.…" She began at McKayla's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares of McKayla's card.

"Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet.…" She grabbed McKayla's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of McKayla's middle finger.

"Ouch," McKayla complained.

Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead and my ears began a faint ringing.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs.…" Mrs. Banner demonstrated as she instructed, squeezing McKayla's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, and my stomach heaved.

"And then apply it to the card," she finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the humming in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." She sounded proud of herself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission—I have slips at my desk."

She continued through the room with her water dropper. I put my cheek against the cool, black tabletop and tried to hold on as everything seemed to get farther away, slithering down a dark tunnel. The squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers all sounded far off in the distance. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Anna, are you all right?" Mrs. Banner asked. Her voice was close to my head, but still far away, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mrs. Banner. I'm O negative."

I couldn't open my eyes.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered, wishing I could kick myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone walk Anna to the nurse, please?" she called.

"I will." Even though it was far away, I recognized McKayla's voice.

"Can you walk?" Mrs. Banner asked me.

"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.

I felt McKayla grab my hand—I was sure it was all sweaty and gross but I couldn't care about that yet—and I worked to get my eyes open while she tugged me up. I just had to get out of this room before it went full dark. I stumbled toward the door while McKayla put her arm around my waist, trying to steady me. I put my arm over her shoulders, but she was too short to help my balance much. I tried to carry my own weight as much as possible.

McKayla and I lumbered slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mrs. Banner was watching, I stopped fighting.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I asked.

McKayla breathed out a sigh of relief as I settled clumsily on the edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I said. Everything seemed to be swirling dizzily, even when I closed my eyes. I slumped over to one side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk. That helped.

"Wow, you're green, Anna," McKayla said nervously.

"Just gimme…a minute…"

"Anna?" a different voice called from the distance.

Oh, please no. Not this, too. Let me just be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"What's wrong? Is she hurt?" The voice was closer now, and it sounded strangely fierce. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.

McKayla sounded stressed. "I think she fainted. I don't know what happened, she didn't even stick her finger."

"Anna, can you hear me?" Elsa's voice was right by my head now, and she sounded relieved.

"No," I groaned.

She laughed.

"I was trying to help her to the nurse," McKayla explained, defensive. "But she wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take her," Elsa said, the smile still in her voice. "You can go back to class."

"What? No, I'm supposed to…"

And then a thin, strong arm was under both of mine, and I was on my feet without realizing how I got there. The strong arm, cold like the sidewalk, held me tight against a slim body, almost like a crutch. My eyes flipped open in surprise, but all I could see was her tangled blonde hair against my chest. She started moving forward, and my feet fumbled trying to catch up. I expected to fall, but she somehow kept me upright. She didn't so much as stagger when my full weight tugged us both forward

Then again, I didn't weigh as much as a van.

"I'm good, I swear," I mumbled. Please, please let me not vomit on her.

"Hey," McKayla called after us, already ten paces behind.

Elsa ignored her. "You look simply awful," she told me. I could hear the grin.

"Just put me back on the sidewalk," I groaned. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

She propelled us quickly forward while I tried to make my feet move in the right pattern to match her speed. A few times I could swear that my feet were actually dragging across the ground, but then, I couldn't feel them very well, so I wasn't sure.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" she asked. Apparently, this was hilarious.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea, lips clamped together. The most important thing was that I not vomit on her. I could survive everything else.

"And not even your own blood!" She laughed. It was like the sound of a bell ringing.

"I have a weak vasovagal system," I muttered. "It's just a neurally mediated syncope."

She laughed again. Apparently, the big words I'd memorized to explain these situations did not impress her the way they were supposed to.

I wasn't sure how she got the door open while dragging me, but suddenly it was warm—everywhere except where her body pressed against me. I wished I felt normal so that I could appreciate that more—her body touching mine. I knew that under normal circumstances I would be enjoying this.

"Oh my," a male voice gasped.

"She's having a neurally mediated syncope," Elsa explained brightly.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Elsa was dragging me past the front counter toward the door at the back of the room. Mr. Cope, the balding receptionist, ran ahead of her to hold it open. He faltered when he heard the dire-sounding diagnosis.

"Should I call nine-one-one?" he gasped.

"It's just a fainting spell," I mumbled.

A grandfatherly old man—the school medic—looked up from a novel, shocked, as Elsa hauled me into the room. Did he notice that when she leaned me against the cot, she half-lifted me into place? The crackly paper complained as she pushed me down with one hand against my chest, then turned and swung my feet up onto the vinyl mattress.

This reminded me of the time she'd swung my feet out of the way of the van, and the memory made me dizzy.

"They're blood typing in Biology," Elsa explained to the nurse.

I watched the old man nod sagely. "There's always one."

Elsa covered her mouth and pretended her laugh was a cough. She'd gone to stand across the room from me. Her eyes were bright, excited.

"Just lie down for a minute, hun," the old nurse told me. "It'll pass."

"I know," I muttered. In fact, the dizziness was already beginning to fade. Soon the tunnel would shorten and things would sound normal again.

"Does this happen a lot?" he asked.

I sighed. "I have a weak vasovagal system."

The nurse looked confused.

"Sometimes," I told him.

Elsa laughed again, not bothering to disguise it.

"You can go back to class now," the nurse said to her.

"I'm supposed to stay with her," Elsa answered. She said it with such confidence that—even though he pursed his lips—the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll get you some ice for your head," he said to me, and then he shuffled out of the room.

I let my eyelids fall shut again. "You were right."

"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy." I worked to breathe in and out evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," she admitted after a pause. The way she said it made it sound like she was confessing a weakness, something to be ashamed of. "I thought that Newton girl had poisoned you."

"Hilarious." I still had my eyes shut, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly," she said, "I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your death."

"I bet McKayla's annoyed."

"She absolutely loathes me," Elsa said cheerfully.

"You don't know that," I countered, but then I wondered.…

"You should have seen her face. It was obvious."

"How did you even see us? I thought you were ditching."

I was pretty much fine now, though the queasiness would probably have passed faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response—it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in his hand.

"Here you go, hun." He laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," he added.

"I think I'm okay," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could tell he was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Mr. Cope stuck his head in.

"We've got another one," he warned.

I lurched off the cot to make room for the next victim and handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

And then McKayla staggered through the door, now supporting Leann Stephens, another girl in our Biology class. She was currently sallow green. Elsa and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

Oh no," Elsa murmured. "Go out to the office, Anna."

I looked down at her, confused.

"Trust me—go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, floundering out of the infirmary. I could feel Elsa right behind me.

"You actually listened to me," she said, surprised.

"I smelled the blood." Leann wasn't sick from just watching other people. Much less embarrassing, I thought.

"People can't smell blood," Elsa contradicted.

"I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust…and salt."

She was staring at me with a wary expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

McKayla came through the door then, glancing from Elsa to me and back again.

"Thanks so much for your help, Elsa," she said, her sickly sweet tone a pretty good indication that Elsa was right about the loathing thing. "I don't know what Anna here would have done without you."

"Don't mention it," Elsa replied with an amused smile.

"You look better," McKayla said to me in the same tone. "I'm so glad."

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I cautioned her again.

"It's not bleeding anymore," she told me, her voice going back to normal. "Are you coming to class?"

"No thanks. I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess.…So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While she spoke, she flashed a dark look toward Elsa, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I didn't want to upset her more. "Sure, I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my parents' store at ten." Her eyes flickered to Elsa again, and I could tell she was worried she was giving out too much information. Her body language made it clear this wasn't an open invitation.

"I'll be there," I promised.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," she said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

"Yeah, see you," I replied.

She looked at me again, her round face slightly pouting, and then as she walked through the door, her shoulders slumped. Guilt lanced through me, the same as yesterday. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but it seemed like it just kept happening. I thought about looking at her disappointed face all through Gym.

"Ugh, Gym," I muttered.

"I can take care of that." I hadn't heard Elsa walk over, but now she spoke from right beside me, making me jump. "Go sit down and look pale," she instructed in a whisper.

That wasn't a challenge; I was usually pale, and the recent episode had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting was exhausting.

I heard Elsa speaking softly at the counter.

"Mr. Cope?"

I hadn't heard the man return to his desk, but he answered, "Yes?"

"Anna has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should drive her home. Do you mind excusing her from class?" Her voice was like melting honey. I could guess how much more overwhelming her eyes would be.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Elsa?" Mr. Cope's voice broke.

Why couldn't I do that to people?

"No, I have Mr. Goff," Elsa said. "He won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Anna," Mr. Cope called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to help you again?" With her back to the receptionist, her expression turned sarcastic.

"I'll walk."

I stood carefully, and I was still fine. She opened the door for me, her smile polite but her eyes mocking. I felt stupid as I walked through the door, out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. But it felt good—the first time I'd enjoyed the never-ending moisture falling out of the sky—as it washed the sweat off my face.

"Thanks for that," I said when she'd followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

"Anytime," she promised. She stared past me into the rain.

"So are you going? This Saturday—the beach trip?" I was hoping she would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture her loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; she didn't belong in the same world. But just wishing that she might gave me the first thrill of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.

"Where are you all going?" She was still staring ahead, expressionless, but her question made me hope she was considering it.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach."

I watched her face, trying to read it. I thought I saw her eyes narrow just slightly.

She finally looked up at me and smiled. "I really don't think I was invited."

"I just invited you."

"Let's you and I not antagonize poor McKayla any more this week. We don't want her to snap." Her eyes danced, like she was enjoying the idea more than she should.

"Fine, whatever," I grumbled, preoccupied by the way she'd said you and I. I liked it more than I should.

We were at the parking lot now, so I angled toward my truck. Something caught my jacket and yanked me back half a step.

"Where are you going?" she asked, surprised. Her little hand had a fistful of my jacket. She didn't look like she'd even planted her feet. For a second I couldn't answer. She denied being a superhero, but my mind couldn't seem to frame it another way. It was like Supergirl had left her cape at home.

I wondered if it was supposed to bother me that she was so much stronger than I was, but I hadn't been insecure about things like that for a long time. Ever since I'd outgrown my bullies, I'd been fairly well satisfied. Sure, I'd like to be coordinated, but it didn't bother me that I wasn't good at sports. I didn't have time for them anyway, and they'd always seemed a little childish. Why get so worked up about a bunch of people chasing a ball around? I was strong enough that I could make people leave me alone, and that was all I wanted.

So, this girl was stronger than I was. A lot. But I was willing to bet she was stronger than everyone else I knew, kids and adults alike. She could take Schwarzenegger in his prime. I couldn't compete with that, and I didn't need to. She was special.

"Anna?" she asked, and I realized I hadn't answered her question.

"Uh, what?"

"I asked where you were going."

"Home. Or am I not?" Her expression confused me.

She smiled. "Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"

"What condition?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have a weak vasovagal system."

"I think I'll survive," I said. I tried to take another step toward my truck, but her hand didn't free my jacket.

I stopped and looked down at her again. "Okay, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"

Her smile got wider. "Very sensible. You're going to get into my car, and I am going to drive you home."

"I have two issues with that. One, it's not necessary, and two, what about my truck?"

"One, necessary is a subjective word, and two, I'll have Archie drop it off after school."

I was distracted by the casual reminder that she had siblings—strange, pale, beautiful siblings. Special siblings? Special like her?

"Are you going to put up a fuss?" she asked when I didn't speak.

"Is there any point in resisting?"

I tried to decipher all the layers to her smile, but I didn't get very far. "It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly. This way."

She dropped her fistful of jacket and turned. I followed her willingly. The smooth roll of her hips was just as hypnotic as her eyes. And there wasn't a downside to getting more time with her.

The inside of the Volvo was just as pristine as the outside. Instead of the smell of gasoline and tobacco, there was just a faint perfume. It was almost familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.

As the engine purred quietly to life, she played with a few dials, turning the heat on and the music down.

"Is that 'Clair de Lune'?" I asked.

She glanced at me, surprised. "You're a fan of Debussy?"

I shrugged. "My mom plays a lot of classical stuff around the house. I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too."

"Well, imagine that," I said. "We have something in common."

I expected her to laugh, but she only stared out through the rain.

I relaxed against the light gray seat, responding automatically to the familiar melody. Because I was mostly watching her from the corner of my eye, the rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. It took me a minute to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so smoothly I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What's your mother like?" she asked suddenly.

Her butterscotch eyes studied me curiously while I answered.

"She kind of looks like me—same eyes, same color hair—but she's short. She's an extrovert, and pretty brave. She's also slightly eccentric, a little irresponsible, and a very unpredictable cook. She was my best friend." I stopped. It made me depressed to talk about her in the past tense.

"How old are you, Anna?" Her voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine.

The car stopped, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain had really picked up, so heavy now that I could barely see the house. It was like the car was submerged in a vertical river.

"I'm seventeen," I said, a little confused by her tone.

"You don't seem seventeen," she said—it was like an accusation.

I laughed.

"What?" she demanded.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed again, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school, either."

She made a face and changed the subject.

"Why did your mother marry Phil?"

I was surprised that she remembered Phil's name; I was sure I'd only said it once, almost two months ago. It took me a second to answer.

"My mom…she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. Anyway, she's crazy about him." Personally I didn't see it, but did anyone ever think anyone was good enough for her mom?

"Do you approve?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I want her to be happy, and he's who she wants."

"That's very generous.…I wonder…"

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" Her eyes were suddenly intent, searching mine.

"I—I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the adult—on paper at least. It's a little different."

Her face relaxed. "No one too scary, then," she teased.

I grinned back. "What do you mean by scary? Tattoos and facial piercings?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?"

She ignored me and asked another question. "Do you think I could be scary?" She raised one eyebrow.

I pretended to examine her face for a minute, just as an excuse to stare at her, my favorite thing to do.

Her features were so delicate, so symmetrical. Her face would stop anyone in his tracks, but it wouldn't make him run in the other direction. The opposite.

"It's kind of hard to imagine that," I admitted.

She frowned to herself.

"But, I mean, I'm sure you could be, if you wanted to."

She tilted her head and gave me an exasperated smile, but didn't say anything else.

"So are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

She was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?"

"Yes."

I hesitated for a minute. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." Her tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't really remember them clearly. Carin and Earnest have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way she said their names.

"Yes." She smiled. "I can't imagine two better people."

"Then you're very lucky."

"I know it."

"And your brother and sister?"

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Jessamine and Royal for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go."

It was stupid, but I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home and you have to explain about the syncopal episode."

She was good with the medical jargon, but then, her mother was a doctor.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks," I grumbled.

Apparently I'd said something funny, but I couldn't guess what it was, or why there was an edge to her laughter.

"Have fun at the beach," she said when she was finished. "Good weather for sunbathing." She gestured to the sheeting rain.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No. Eleanor and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped she couldn't hear the disappointment in my voice.

"We'll be hiking the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

"Oh, sounds fun."

She smiled. "Will you do something for me this weekend?" She turned to look me straight in the eyes, her own burning in their hypnotic way.

I nodded, helpless. Anything, I could have said, and it would have been true.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. Try not to fall into the ocean or get run over by anything, all right?"

She flashed her dimples at me, which took away some of the sting of being called incompetent.

"I'll see what I can do," I promised.

I jumped out into the vertical river and ran for the porch. By the time I turned around, the Volvo had disappeared.

"Oh!" I clutched at my jacket pocket, remembering that I'd forgotten to give her my key.

The pocket was empty


	6. scary stories

WHILE I TRIED TO CONCENTRATE ON THE THIRD ACT OF Macbeth, I was listening for my truck. I would have thought I'd hear the engine's roar even over the pounding rain. But when I went to look out the window again, it was suddenly there.

I wasn't super excited to get up on Friday, and it more than lived up to my negative expectations. Of course there were all the fainting comments. Jeremy especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. He laughed till he choked when Logan pretended to swoon at the lunch table. Luckily, McKayla had kept her mouth shut, and no one seemed to know about Elsa's involvement. Jeremy did have a lot of questions about yesterday's lunch, though.

"What did Elsa Cullen want?" he'd asked in Trig.

"Not sure." It was the truth. "She never really got to the point."

"She looked kind of mad."

I'd shrugged. "Did she?"

"I've never seen her sit with anyone but her family before. That was weird."

"Yeah, weird," I'd agreed.

He'd seemed kind of irritated that I didn't have better answers.

The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew she wasn't going to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Jeremy and McKayla, I couldn't keep from looking at her table, where Royal, Archie, and Jessamine sat, talking with their heads close together. I wondered if Archie had been the one to drive my truck home last night, and what he thought about the chore.

At my normal table, everyone was full of our plans for the next day. McKayla was animated again, putting a lot more trust in the local weatherman than I thought he deserved. I'd have to see his promised sun before I believed it. At least it was warmer today—almost sixty, though it was still wet. Maybe the trip wouldn't be totally miserable

I caught a few unfriendly glances from Logan during lunch, which I didn't really understand. Just like everyone else, I'd laughed along with his fainting stunt. But I got some clarification as we walked out of the room. I guess he didn't realize how close I was behind him.

He ran a hand over his slicked-back, silver-blond hair. "I don't know why Annalise"—he said my name with a sneer—"doesn't just sit with the Cullens now," I heard him mutter to McKayla. I'd never noticed before what a nasal voice he had, and I was surprised now by the malice in it. I really didn't know him well, not well enough for him to dislike me—or so I would have thought.

"She's my friend; she sits with us," McKayla snapped back. Loyal, but also territorial. I paused to let Jeremy and Allen pass. I didn't want to hear any more.

Later, at dinner, Charlie seemed excited about my trip to La Push in the morning. I guessed he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on the weekends, but he'd spent too many years building his habits to break them now. And I never minded the alone time.

Of course he knew the names of all the kids going, and their parents, and their great-grandparents, too, probably. He obviously approved. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle with Elsa. He seemed to like the Cullens a lot. But there was no reason to tell him about it.

"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think it's south of Mount Rainier."

"Yeah, why?"

I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about camping there."

"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised. "Too many bears. Most people go there during hunting season."

"Huh. Maybe I got it wrong."

I meant to sleep in, but the light woke me. Instead of the same gloomy half-light I'd gotten up to for the past two months, there was a bright, clear yellow streaming through my window. I couldn't believe it, but there it was—finally—the sun. It was in the wrong place, too low and not as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun. Clouds still ringed the horizon, but a wide blue patch took up most of the sky. I threw on my clothes quickly, afraid the blue would disappear as soon as I turned my back.

Newton's Olympic Outfitters was just north of town. I'd seen the store but never stopped there—not having much desire for the supplies needed to intentionally stay outdoors over an extended period of time. In the parking lot I saw McKayla's Suburban and Taylor's Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I saw the kids standing around in front of the Suburban. Erica was there, and two other girls I knew from class; I was pretty sure their names were Becca and Colleen. Jeremy was there, flanked by Allen and Logan. Three other guys stood with them, including one I remembered falling over in Gym on Friday. That one gave me a dirty look as I climbed out of the truck, and then said something to Logan. They laughed loudly, and Logan pretended he was passing out. The other guy caught him at first, then let him fall. They both busted up again, Logan just lying there on the pavement with his hands behind his head.

So it was going to be like that.

At least McKayla was happy to see me.

"You came!" she called, sounding thrilled. "And I promised it would be sunny, didn't I?"

"I told you I was coming."

"We're just waiting for Leann and Sean…unless you invited someone," she added.

"Nope, it's just me," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn't get caught. But then again, it would be worth getting caught out if it meant I could spend the day with Elsa.

McKayla smiled. "Do you want to ride with me? It's either that or Leann's mom's minivan."

"Sure."

Her smile was huge. It was so easy to make her happy.

"You can have shotgun," she promised, and I saw Jeremy look up at us and then scowl. Not so easy to make McKayla and Jeremy happy at the same time.

The numbers worked out, though. Leann brought two extra people, so every space was necessary. I made Jeremy climb in before me so that he was wedged between McKayla and me in the front seat of the Suburban. McKayla could have been more gracious about it, but as least Jeremy seemed appeased.

It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks, with thick green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quillayute River snaking beneath it twice. I was glad I had the window seat. We'd rolled the windows down—the Suburban was claustrophobic with nine people in it—and I tried to absorb as much sunlight as possible.

I'd been to the beaches around La Push lots of times during my Forks summers with Charlie, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar. Still breathtaking, though. The water was dark gray, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving onto the rocky shore. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, each with a spiky crown of black firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water's edge; after that it was a million smooth rocks that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every color a stone could be. The tide line was piled with huge driftwood trees, bleached white by the salty waves—some piled together against the forest's edge, and some lying alone just out of reach of the waves.

There was a strong breeze coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle circled above them. The clouds still crowded the edges of the sky, but for now the sun shone warmly in its backdrop of blue.

We trudged through the thick sand down to the beach, McKayla leading the way to a circle of driftwood logs that had clearly been used for parties before. There was a fire ring already in place, filled with black ashes. Erica and the girl I thought was named Becca gathered broken branches of driftwood from the driest piles against the forest edge, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" McKayla asked me. I was sitting on one of the bleached benches; Jeremy and Allen sat on either side of me, but most of the other guys sat across the circle from us. McKayla knelt by the fire, holding a cigarette lighter to one of the smaller pieces of kindling.

"No," I said as she placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee.

"You'll like this, then—watch the colors." She lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up the dry wood.

"It's blue," I said in surprise.

"The salt does it. Cool, isn't it?" She lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Luckily, Jeremy was on her other side. He turned to McKayla and started asking her questions about the plan for the day. I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle upward.

After a half hour of talk, some of the girls wanted to hike to the nearby tide pools, but most of the guys wanted to head up to the one shop in the village for food.

I wasn't sure which side to join. I wasn't hungry, and I loved the tide pools—I'd loved them since I was just a kid; they were one of the only things I ever looked forward to when I had to come to Forks. On the other hand, I'd also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're seven and with your dad. It reminded me suddenly of Elsa—not that she wasn't always somewhere in my thoughts—and how she'd told me not to fall into the ocean.

Logan was the one who made my decision for me. He was the loudest voice in the argument, and he wanted food. The group splintered into three pieces—food, hiking, and staying put—with most people following Logan. I waited until Taylor and Erica had committed to going with him before I got up quietly to join the pro-hiking group. McKayla smiled wide when she saw that I was coming.

The hike was short, but I hated to lose the sun in the trees. The green light of the forest was a strange setting for the teenage laughter, too murky and menacing to be in harmony with the joking around me. I had to concentrate on my feet and head, avoiding roots below and branches above, and I fell behind. When I broke through the dark edge of the forest and found the rocky shore again, I was the last one. It was low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way to the sea. Along its rocky banks, shallow pools that never completely drained were filled with tiny sea creatures.

I was cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were reckless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I found a stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there, totally entertained by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of anemones rippled in the invisible current, hermit crabs scurried around the edges in their spiraled shells, starfish stuck motionless to the rocks and each other, and one small black eel with white racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. Watching took most of my attention, except for the small part of my mind that was wondering what Elsa was doing now, and trying to imagine what she would be saying if she were here instead.

Suddenly everyone was hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I tripped. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms, but they didn't bleed much.

When we got back to First Beach, the group we'd left behind had multiplied. As we got closer I could see the shining, straight black hair and copper skin of the new arrivals, teenagers from the reservation come to socialize. Food was already being passed around, and the hikers hurried to claim a share. Erica introduced us to the new kids as we each entered the driftwood circle. Allen and I were the last to arrive, and, as Erica said our names, I noticed a younger girl sitting on the ground near the fire look up at me with interest. I sat down next to Allen, and McKayla joined us with sandwiches and sodas. The girl who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of the seven others with her. All I caught was that one of the boys was also named Jeremy, and the girl who noticed me was named Julie.

It was relaxing to sit next to Allen; he was an easy person to be around—he didn't feel the need to fill every silence with talk, leaving me free to think while we ate. And what I thought about was how strangely time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched into my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it was troubling.

During lunch the clouds started to move in, darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the beach, and blackening the waves. As they finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. McKayla—with Jeremy shadowing her—headed up to the little store. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with Logan and Taylor talking by the CD player someone had brought, and three teenagers from the reservation, including the girl named Julie and the oldest girl, who had acted as spokesperson

A few minutes after Allen left with the hikers, Julie came over to take his place by my side. She looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of her neck. Her skin was really beautiful, like coppery silk, her dark eyes were wide-set above her high cheekbones, and her lips were curved like a bow. It was a very pretty face. However, my positive opinion was damaged by the first words out of her mouth.

"You're Annalise Swan, aren't you?"

It was like the first day of school all over again.

"Anna," I sighed.

"Right," she said, like she'd already known that. "I'm Julie Black." She held out her hand. "You bought my mom's truck."

"Oh," I said, relieved, shaking her warm hand. "Bonnie's your mom. I probably should remember you."

"No, I'm the youngest of the family—you would remember my older brothers."

And suddenly I did. "Adam and Aaron." Charlie and Bonnie and Bonnie's husband—George, I remembered now; he'd died a few years back, car accident or something, and Charlie had been really sad—had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We'd never made much progress as friends. Of course, I'd objected often enough to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven. "Adam and Aaron and…Jules, wasn't it?"

She smiled. "You do remember. No one's called me that since my brothers left."

"They aren't here?" I examined the boys at the ocean's edge, wondering if I would be able to recognize them now.

Jules shook her head. "No, Adam got a scholarship to Washington State, and Aaron married a Samoan surfer—he lives in Hawaii now."

"Married. Wow." I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was.

"So how do you like the truck?" she asked.

"I love it. It runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow," she laughed. "I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My mom wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not that slow," I objected.

"Have you tried to go over sixty?"

"No," I admitted.

"Good. Don't." She grinned.

I couldn't help grinning back. "It does great in a collision," I offered in my truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," she agreed with another laugh.

"So you build cars?" I asked, impressed.

"When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" she added jokingly. She had an interesting voice, warm and kind of throaty.

"Sorry," I laughed, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you." As if I knew what that was. She was very easy to talk with.

She flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me in a way I was learning to recognize. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know Annalise, Julie?" Logan asked. I should have known someone like Logan would notice how much I disliked my full name.

"Anna and I have sort of known each other since I was born," Jules said, smiling at me again.

"How nice for you," Logan said. I hadn't noticed before how fishy his pale green eyes were.

Jules raised her eyebrows at his tone. "Yes, isn't it wonderful?"

Her sarcasm seemed to throw Logan off, but he wasn't done with me yet. "Anna, Taylor and I were just saying that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn't anyone think to ask them?"

He looked at me like he knew I'd asked Elsa to come, and thought it was hilarious that she'd turned me down. Only, it hadn't felt like a rejection in the moment—it'd felt like she'd wanted to come with me, but couldn't. Had I read her wrong?

My worries were interrupted by a strong, clear voice.

"You mean Dr. Carin Cullen's family?"

It was the older girl who had first introduced the local kids. She was even older than I'd thought, now that I looked at her closer. Not really a girl at all, but a woman. Unlike Julie's, her hair was cut short as a boy's. She was standing now, and I saw that she was almost as tall as I was.

Logan glared at her, glared up because he was shorter than she was, irritated because she'd spoken before I could respond. "Yes, do you know them?" he asked in a patronizing tone, only half-turned toward her.

"The Cullens don't come here," she said, and in her clear, forceful voice, it sounded less like an observation and more like…a command. She had ignored his question, but clearly the conversation was over.

Taylor, trying to win back Logan's attention, asked his opinion of the CD she held. He was distracted.

I stared at the woman—she stood with a confident, straight posture, looking away toward the dark forest. She'd said that the Cullens didn't come here, but her tone had implied something more—that they weren't allowed to come, that they were prohibited from coming here. Her manner left a strange impression with me that I couldn't shake.

Jules interrupted my meditation. "So, is Forks driving you insane yet?"

I frowned. Possibly, I was literally insane at this point. "I'd say that's an understatement

She grinned sympathetically.

I was still turning over the woman's brief comment on the Cullens, and piecing it together with what I'd read from Elsa's reactions the other day. I looked at Jules, speculating.

"What?" she asked.

"You want to take a walk down the beach with me?"

She looked at Logan, then back to me with a quick grin. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

As we walked north toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally won. The sun disappeared, the sea turned black, and the temperature started to drop. I shoved my hands deep in the pockets of my jacket.

While we walked, I thought about the way Elsa could always get me to talk, how she would look at me from under her thick eyelashes and the gold of her eyes would burn and I would forget everything—my own name, how to breathe, everything but her. I eyed the girl walking alongside me now. Jules just had on a long-sleeved t-shirt, but she swung her arms as she walked, not bothered by the cold. The wind whipped her silky black hair into twists and knots on her back. There was something very natural and open about her face. Even if I knew how to do that burning thing that Elsa did, this girl would probably just laugh at me. But not meanly, I didn't think. With Jules, you would always be in on the joke.

"Nice friends," she commented when we were far enough from the fire that the clattering of the stones beneath our feet was more than enough to drown out our voices.

"Not mine."

She laughed. "I could tell."

"Were those other kids your friends? That one seemed kind of…older."

"That's Samantha—Sam. She's nineteen, I think. I don't hang out with her. One of my friends was there before—Quil. I think she went up to the store."

"I don't remember which one she was."

She shrugged. "I didn't catch many names, either. I only remember yours because you used to pull my hair."

"I did? I'm so sorry!"

She laughed. "Your face. No—that was just my brothers. But I totally could have convinced you that you were guilty."

It was easy to laugh with her. "Guess so. Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"What did that girl—Sam—what did she mean about the doctor's family?"

Jules made a face and then looked away, toward the ocean. She didn't say anything.

Which had to mean that I was right. There was something more to what Sam had said. And Jules knew what it was.

She was still looking at the ocean.

"Hey, um, I didn't mean to be rude or anything."

Jules turned back with another smile, kind of apologetic. "No worries. It's just…I'm not really supposed to talk about that."

"Is it a secret?"

She pursed her curved lips. "Sort of."

I held my hands up. "Forget I asked."

"Already blew it, though, didn't I?"

"I wouldn't say you did—that girl Sam was a little…intense."

She laughed. "Cool. Sam's fault, then."

I laughed, too. "Not really, though. I'm totally confused."

She looked up at me, smiling like we already shared a secret of our own. "Can I trust you?"

"Of course."

"You won't go running to spill to your blond friend?"

"Logan? Oh yeah, I can't keep anything from that guy. We're like siblings."

She liked that. When she laughed, it made me feel like I was funnier than I really was.

Her husky voice dropped a little lower. "Do you like scary stories, Anna?"

For one second, I could hear Elsa's voice clearly in my head. Do you think I could be scary?

"How scary are we talking here?"

"You'll never sleep again," she promised.

"Well, now I have to hear it."

She chuckled and looked down, a smile playing around the edges of her lips. I could tell she would try to make this good.

We were near one of the beached logs now, a huge white skeleton with the upended roots all tangled out like a hundred spider legs. Jules climbed up to sit on one of the thicker roots while I sat beneath her on the body of the tree. I tried to seem only interested as I looked at her, not like I was taking any of this seriously.

"I'm ready to be terrified."

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we come from—the Quileutes, I mean?" she began.

"Not really," I admitted.

"There are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Great Flood—supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." She smiled, to show me she wasn't taking this seriously, either. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves—and that the wolves are our sisters still. It's against tribal law to kill them.

"Then there are the stories about the cold ones." Her voice dropped even lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked. Did I look too interested now? Could she guess that the word cold would mean something to me?

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandmother knew some of them. She was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." She rolled her eyes.

"Your great-grandmother?" I encouraged.

"She was a tribal elder, like my mother. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into women, like our ancestors. You could call them werewolves, I guess

Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at her, too eager, trying to disguise my impatience as entertainment.

"So you see," Jules continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandmother's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did—they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandmother made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." She winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why…?"

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan alleged they were. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." She deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into her tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual, but I was pretty sure I failed. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandmother met?"

"No.…" She paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."

She must have thought the expression on my face meant only that I was engrossed in her story. She smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandmother's time they already knew of the leader, Carin. She'd been here and gone before your people had even arrived." She was fighting another smile, trying to keep the tone serious.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?"

"Blood drinkers," she replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires."

I stared out at the rough surf after she answered, not sure what my face was giving away. Do you think I could be scary? Elsa's voice repeated in my head.

"You have goose bumps on your neck," Jules laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I told her, still staring into the waves.

"Thanks, but you're just cold. It's crazy stuff, isn't it? No wonder my mom doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

I couldn't control my expression enough to look at her yet. "Don't worry, I won't give you away."

"I guess I just violated the treaty." She threw her head back and laughed.

"I'll take it to the grave," I promised, and then a shiver ran down my spine.

"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Charlie. He was pretty mad at my mom when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Cullen started working there."

"I won't say anything to Charlie, of course not."

"So, do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" she asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn't looked away from the ocean.

So I turned and smiled at her as normally as I could.

"No. I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?" I yanked back the sleeve of my jacket to show her.

"Cool." She grinned.

And then we both heard the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see McKayla and Jeremy about fifty yards away, walking toward us.

"There you are, Anna," McKayla called in relief, waving her arm over her head.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Jules asked, picking up the edge in McKayla's voice. I was surprised it was so obvious.

"No, why does everyone think that?"

Jules snorted. "Maybe because she wants them to."

I sighed.

"You ever need a break from these friends of yours, let me know."

"That sounds cool," I said, and I meant it. I didn't know if it was because we'd known each other longer, if not well, or if it was because Jules was so easygoing, but I already felt more comfortable with her than I did with any of the kids I'd be riding home with.

McKayla had reached us now, with Jeremy a few paces back, struggling to keep up. McKayla looked Jules up and down once, then turned to me in a move that was strangely dismissive of Jules. Jules snorted quietly again.

"Where have you been?" McKayla asked, though the answer was right in front of her.

"Jules here was just giving me the guided tour of First Beach." I smiled at Jules and she grinned back. Again, it was like we had a shared secret. Of course, that was true now.

"Well," McKayla said, eyeing Jules again. "We're packing up. Looks like it's going to rain."

We all glanced up—the clouds were thick and black and very wet-looking.

"Okay," I said. "I'm coming."

"It was nice to see you again," Jules emphasized, and I guessed she was messing with McKayla.

"It really was. Next time Charlie comes down to see Bonnie, I'll come with."

Her grin stretched across her entire face, showing her straight white teeth. "That would be cool."

"And thanks," I added in a low voice, not quite casual enough.

She winked at me.

I pulled up my hood as we trudged across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got to the Suburban the others were already loading everything back in. I crawled into the backseat by Allen and Taylor, announcing that I'd already had my turn in the shotgun position. Allen just stared out the window at the building storm, and Logan twisted around in the middle seat to occupy Taylor's attention, so I was free to lay my head back over the seat, close my eyes, and try very hard not to think.


	7. nightmare

I TOLD CHARLIE I HAD A LOT OF HOMEWORK TO DO, AND THAT I'D FILLED up at La Push and didn't want dinner. There was a basketball game on that he was excited about, though of course I couldn't tell what was special about it, so he wasn't aware of anything off about my face.

Once in my room, I locked the door. I dug through my desk until I found my old headphones, and I plugged them into my little CD player. I picked up a CD that Phil had given to me for Christmas. It was one of his favorite bands, but they were a little heavy for my taste. I stuck it into place and lay down on my bed. I put on the headphones, hit Play, and turned up the volume until it hurt my ears. I closed my eyes, and then added a pillow over the top half of my face.

I concentrated only on the music, trying to make out the lyrics, to unravel the complicated drum patterns. By the third time I'd listened through the CD, I knew all the words to the choruses, at least. I was surprised to find that I really did like the band after all, once I got past the blaring noise. I'd have to thank Phil again.

And it worked. The eardrum-shattering beats made it impossible for me to think—which was the whole idea. I listened to the CD again and again, until I was singing along with all the songs, until, finally, I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes to a familiar place. Though part of my mind seemed to know that I was dreaming, most of me was just present in the green light of the forest. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks somewhere nearby, and I knew that if I found the ocean, I'd be able to see the sun. So I was trying to follow the sound, but then Jules was there, tugging on my hand, pulling me back toward the blackest part of the forest.

"Jules? What's wrong?" I asked. Her face was frightened as she yanked on my hand, trying to tow me back into the dark.

"Run, Anna, you have to run!" she whispered, terrified.

"This way, Anna!" It was McKayla's voice I heard now, calling from the thick of the trees, but I couldn't see her.

"Why?" I asked, still pulling against Jules's grasp. Finding the sun was really important to the dream me. It was all I could focus on.

And then Jules dropped my hand—she let out a strange yelp and, suddenly shaking, she fell twitching to the ground. I watched in horror, unable to move.

"Jules!" I yelled, but she was gone. In her place was a big, red-brown wolf with black eyes. The wolf faced away from me, pointing toward the shore, the hair on the back of her shoulders bristling, low growls issuing from between her exposed fangs.

"Anna, run!" McKayla cried out again from behind me. But I didn't turn. I was watching a light, coming toward me from the beach.

And then Elsa stepped out from the trees.

She wore a black dress. It hung all the way to the ground but exposed her arms to the shoulders and had a deep-cut V for a neckline. Her skin was faintly glowing, and her eyes were flat black. She held up one hand and beckoned me to come to her. Her nails were filed into sharp points and painted a red so dark they were almost as black as her dress. Her lips were the same color.

The wolf between us growled.

I took a step forward, toward Elsa. She smiled then, and between her dark lips her teeth were sharp, pointed, like her fingernails.

"Trust me," she purred.

I took another step.

The wolf launched herself across the space between me and the vampire, fangs aiming for the jugular.

"No!" I shouted, wrenching upright out of my bed.

My sudden movement caused the headphones to pull the CD player off the bedside table, and it clattered to the wooden floor.

My light was still on, and I was sitting fully dressed on the bed, with my shoes on. I glanced, disoriented, at the clock on my dresser. It was five-thirty in the morning.

I groaned, fell back, and rolled over onto my face, kicking off my boots. I was too uncomfortable to get anywhere near sleep, though. I rolled back over and unbuttoned my jeans, yanking them off awkwardly as I tried to stay horizontal. I pulled the pillow back over my eyes.

It was all no use, though. My subconscious had decided to wallow in the word I'd been trying so hard to avoid. I was going to have to deal with it now.

First things first, I thought to myself, glad to put it off as long as possible. I grabbed my bathroom stuff.

Showering didn't take very long. I couldn't tell if Charlie was still asleep, or if he'd left already. I went to the window, and the cruiser was gone. Early-morning fishing again.

I dressed slowly in yesterday's jeans and an old sweatshirt, and then made my bed—which was just stalling.

I couldn't put it off any longer. I went to my desk and switched on my old computer.

I hated using the Internet here. My modem belonged in a museum, and my free service really proved that you got what you paid for. Just dialing up took so long that I decided to grab a bowl of cereal while I waited.

I ate slowly, so the last bites were too soggy to finish. I washed the bowl and spoon, then put them away. My feet dragged as I climbed the stairs. I went to pick up my CD player first, then wound up the headphones' cord, and put them away in the desk drawer. I turned the same CD on, but turned it down till it was just background noise.

With a sigh, I turned to my computer, already feeling stupid before I could even finish typing the word.

Vampire.

I felt even more stupid looking at it.

The results were difficult to sift through. Most of it was entertainment—movies, TV shows, role-playing games, metal bands.…There were goth clothes and makeup, Halloween costumes, and convention schedules.

Eventually I found a promising site—Vampires A–Z—and waited impatiently for it to load. The final page was simple and academic-looking, black text on a white background. Two quotes greeted me on the home page:

Throughout the vast shadowy world of ghosts and demons there is no figure so terrible, no figure so dreaded and abhorred, yet dight with such fearful fascination, as the vampire, who is himself neither ghost nor demon, but yet who partakes the dark natures and possesses the mysterious and terrible qualities of both.—Rev. Montague Summers

If there is in this world a well-attested account, it is that of the vampires. Nothing is lacking: official reports, affidavits of well-known people, of surgeons, of priests, of magistrates; the judicial proof is most complete. And with all that, who is there who believes in vampires?—Rousseau

The rest of the site was an alphabetized listing of all the different myths of vampires found throughout the world. The first I clicked on, the Danag, was a Filipino vampire supposedly responsible for planting taro on the islands long ago. The myth continued that the Danag worked with humans for many years, but the partnership ended one day when a woman cut her finger and a Danag sucked her wound, enjoying the taste so much that it drained her body completely of blood.

I read carefully through the descriptions, looking for anything that sounded familiar, let alone plausible. It seemed that most vampire myths focused on beautiful women as demons and children as victims; they also seemed like excuses created to explain away the high mortality rates for young children, and to give guys an excuse for infidelity. Many of the stories were about bodiless spirits and warnings against improper burials. There wasn't much that sounded like the movies I remembered, and just a couple, like the Hebrew Estrie and the Polish Upier, who were even that interested in drinking blood.

Only three entries really caught my attention: the Romanian Varacolaci, a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful, pale-skinned human, the Slovak Nelapsi, a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in the single hour after midnight, and one other, the Stregoni benefici.

About this last there was only one brief sentence.

Stregoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and a mortal enemy of all evil vampires.

It was a strange relief, that one small entry, the one myth among hundreds that claimed the existence of good vampires.

Overall, though, there wasn't much that fit with Jules's story or my own observations. I'd created a catalogue in my mind, and as I'd read I'd compared it with each myth. Beauty, speed, strength, pale skin, eyes that shift color; and then Jules's criteria: blood drinkers, enemies of the werewolf, cold-skinned, and immortal. There were very few myths that matched even one factor.

And then another problem, one that I'd remembered from the horror movies that I'd seen and that was backed up by today's reading—vampires couldn't come out in the daytime, the sun would burn them to a cinder. They slept in coffins all day and came out only at night.

Annoyed, I snapped off the computer's main power switch, not waiting to shut things down right. Through my irritation, I felt overwhelming embarrassment. It was all so stupid. I was sitting in my room, researching vampires. What was wrong with me?

I had to get out of the house, but there was nowhere I wanted to go that didn't involve a three-day drive. I pulled on my boots anyway, unclear where I was headed, and went downstairs. I shrugged into my raincoat without checking the weather and stomped out the door.

Overcast, but not raining yet. I ignored my truck and started east on foot, angling across Charlie's yard toward the nearby forest. It didn't take long till I was deep enough that the house and the road were invisible, and the only sound was the squish of the damp earth under my feet.

There was a narrow trail that led through the woods here; it wound deeper and deeper into the forest, mostly east as far as I could tell. It snaked around the spruces and the hemlocks, the yews and the maples. I only vaguely knew the names of the trees around me, and all I knew was thanks to Charlie pointing them out to me from the cruiser window a long time ago. There were lots I didn't know, and others I couldn't be sure about, because they were so covered in green parasites.

I followed the trail as long as my anger pushed me forward. As that started to fade, I slowed. A few drops of moisture trickled down from the canopy above me, but I couldn't be sure if it was beginning to rain, or if it was simply pools left over from yesterday, stored high in the leaves above, slowly dripping their way to the ground. A recently fallen tree—I knew it was recent because it wasn't entirely carpeted in moss—rested against the trunk of another, creating a sheltered little bench just a few feet off the trail. I stepped over the ferns and sat down, leaning my hooded head back against the living tree.

This was the wrong place to go. I should have known, but where else was there? The forest was deep green and far too much like the scene in last night's dream to make me comfortable. Now that there was no longer the sound of my soggy footsteps, the silence was piercing. The birds were quiet, too, the drops increasing in frequency, so it must be raining above. The ferns stood almost as high as my head, now that I was seated, and I knew someone could walk by on the path, three feet away, and not even see me.

Here in the trees it was much easier to believe the stupid words that embarrassed me indoors. Nothing had changed in this forest for thousands of years, and all the old myths and legends seemed much more likely in this ancient green maze than they had in my mundane bedroom.

I forced myself to focus on the two most important questions I had to answer.

First, I had to decide if it was possible that what Jules had said about the Cullens could be true.

Immediately, my mind responded with a loud and clear No. It was stupid to even consider the idea. These were silly stories. Just morbid old legends

But what, then? I asked myself. There was no rational explanation for how I had survived the van. I listed again in my head the things I'd observed myself: the inhuman beauty, the impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from black to gold and back again, the pale, cold skin. And more—small things that registered slowly—how they never seemed to eat, the disturbing grace with which they moved. And the way she sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit the style of the historical romances my mom loved than that of a twenty-first-century classroom. She had skipped class the day we'd done blood typing. She hadn't said no to the beach trip till I told her where we were going. She seemed to know what everyone around her was thinking…except me. She'd told me she was the villain, dangerous.…

Could the Cullens be vampires?

Well, they were something. Something outside the boundaries of normal and sane was happening in this nothing little town. Whether it was Jules's cold ones or my own superhero theory, Elsa Cullen was not…human. She was something more.

So then—maybe. That would have to be my answer for now.

And then the most important question of all. What was I going to do about it?

If Elsa was a vampire—I could barely make myself think the word—then what should I do? Involving someone else was definitely out. I couldn't even believe myself; anyone I tried to talk to about it would have me committed.

Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take her advice: to be smart, to avoid her as much as possible. To cancel our plans, and to go back to ignoring her as far as I was able. To pretend there was an impenetrable glass wall between us in the one class where we were forced together. To tell her she was right, and then never talk to her again.

And it hurt—just the idea—more than it should. More than I felt I could stand. I switched gears, skipping on to the next option.

I could do nothing different. After all, if she was something…sinister, she'd done nothing too bad so far. In fact, I would be a dent in Taylor's fender if she hadn't acted so fast. So fast, I argued with myself, that it might have been sheer reflexes. But if it was a reflex to save lives, how bad could she be? My head spun in circular questions, no answers.

There was one thing I was sure of, if I was sure of anything. The black-gowned Elsa with the sharp teeth and nails was just the embodiment of the word Jules had said, and not the real Elsa. Even so, when I'd shouted in horror as the werewolf lunged, it wasn't fear for the wolf that had me screaming No. It was terror that she would be hurt. Even while she was calling to me with sharp-edged fangs, I was afraid for her.

And I knew that in that I had my answer. I didn't know if there ever was a choice, really. I was already in too deep. Now that I knew—if I knew—what could I do about it? Because when I thought of her, of her voice, her hypnotic eyes, the magnetic way her body pulled mine toward her, all I wanted was to be with her right now. Even if…but I didn't want to think the word again. Not here, in the silent forest. Not while the rain made it dark as dusk under the canopy and made noises like footsteps across the matted ground. I shivered and jumped up, worried that somehow the path would have disappeared with the rain.

But it was there, winding its way out of the dripping green gloom. I took longer strides now, and I was surprised, as I nearly ran through the trees, at how far I had come. I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, or following the path farther into the forest. Before I could get too panicky, though, I began to see some open spaces through the branches. And then I could hear a car passing on the street, and I was suddenly free, Charlie's lawn under my feet.

It was just noon when I got back inside. I went upstairs and got dressed for the day, clean jeans and a t-shirt, since I was staying indoors. It didn't take too much effort to concentrate on my task for the day, a paper on Macbeth that was due Wednesday. I settled into outlining a rough draft, more relaxed than I'd felt since…well, since Thursday afternoon, if I was being honest.

That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful part for me, the part I agonized over. But once the decision was made, I just followed through—relieved that the choice was made. Sometimes the relief was mixed with despair, like my decision to come to Forks. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternatives.

This decision was almost too easy to live with. Dangerously easy.

The rest of the day was quiet, productive—I finished my paper before eight. Charlie came home with a large catch, and I made a mental note to pick up a book of recipes for fish while I was in Seattle next week. The spikes of adrenaline I felt whenever I thought of that trip were no different than the ones I'd felt before I'd taken my walk with Jules. They should be different, but I didn't know how to make myself feel the right kind of fear.

I slept dreamlessly that night, beat from getting up so early. For the second time since arriving in Forks, I woke to the bright yellow light of a sunny day. I staggered to the window, stunned to see that there was hardly a cloud in the sky. I opened the window—surprised when it opened silently, without sticking, though I hadn't opened it in who knows how many years—and sucked in the relatively dry air. It was nearly warm, and hardly windy at all. My blood drummed in my veins.

Charlie was finishing breakfast when I came downstairs, and he picked up on my mood immediately.

"Nice day out," he commented.

"Yeah," I agreed with a grin.

He smiled back, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When he smiled big like that, it was easier to imagine him as the man who had impulsively married a beautiful girl he barely knew when he was only three years older than I was now. There wasn't much of that guy left. He'd faded over the years, like the curly brown hair had receded from his forehead.

I ate breakfast with a smile on my face, watching the dust motes stirring in the sunlight that streamed in the back window. Charlie called out a goodbye, and I heard the cruiser pull away from the house. I hesitated on my way out the door, hand on my rain jacket. It would be tempting fate to leave it home. I folded it over my arm and stepped out into the brightest light I'd seen in months.

After a short battle, I was able to get both windows in the truck almost completely rolled down. I was one of the first ones to school; I hadn't even checked the clock in my hurry to get outside. I parked and headed toward the picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria. The benches were still damp, so I sat on my jacket, glad to have a use for it. My homework was done, but there were a few Trig problems I wasn't sure I had right. I took out my book, but halfway through rechecking the first problem my mind was wandering, watching the sunlight play on the red-barked trees. I sketched mindlessly along the margins of my homework. After a few minutes, I realized I'd drawn five pairs of dark eyes staring off the page at me. I scrubbed them out with the eraser.

"Anna!" I heard someone call, and it sounded like McKayla. I looked around to see that the school had filled with kids while I'd been sitting here. Everyone was in t-shirts, some even in shorts though the temperature couldn't be over sixty. McKayla was coming toward me in a skirt that only reached the middle of her thighs and a tank top.

"Hey, McKayla," I answered.

She came to sit with me, the sun shimmering off her freshly straightened hair, a grin stretching across her face. She was so happy to see me, I couldn't help but feel responsive.

"Great day, isn't it?"

"My kind of day," I agreed.

"What did you do yesterday?" There was an annoying sense of ownership in her question, and it reminded me of what Jules had said on Saturday. People thought I was her girlfriend because that was what McKayla wanted them to think.

But I was in too good of a mood to let it get to me now. "I mostly worked on my essay."

"Oh yeah—that's due Thursday, right?"

"Um, Wednesday, I think."

"Wednesday?" Her smile disappeared. "That's not good. I guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight." She frowned. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh." I was thrown. Why couldn't I ever have a conversation with McKayla anymore without it getting awkward?

"Well, we still could go to dinner or something…and I could work on it later." She smiled at me hopefully.

"McKayla…" Here comes the guilt, I thought. "I don't think that would be the best idea."

Her face fell. "Why?" she asked, her eyes guarded. My thoughts flashed to Elsa, and I wondered if McKayla was thinking the same thing.

"Look, I'm breaking all kinds of man codes telling you this, and yes I'm saying man codes because you know how tomboyish I am I joked. so don't rat me out, okay?"

"Man codes?" she repeated, mystified.

"Jeremy's my friend, and if I went out with you, well, it would upset him."

She stared at me.

"I never said any of this, okay? It's your word against mine."

"Jeremy?" she asked, her voice blank with surprise.

"Seriously, are you blind?"

"Oh," she exhaled—looking dazed. Time to escape.

I stuffed the book in my bag. "I don't want to be late again. I'm already on Mason's list."

We walked in silence to building three, her expression distracted. I hoped whatever thoughts she was immersed in were leading her in the right direction.

When I saw Jeremy in Trig, he was just as fired up by the sunny day as I was. He, Allen, and Logan were headed into Port Angeles to catch a movie and order corsages for the dance, and I was invited. I was indecisive. It would be nice to get out of town, but Logan would be there. And who knew what I might be doing tonight.…But that was definitely the wrong thing to think about. Of course I was happy to see the sun again. But that wasn't totally responsible for the mood I was in, not even close.

So I gave him a maybe, lying about homework I had to catch up on.

Finally we were on our way to lunch. I was so anxious to see not just Elsa, but all the Cullens, that it was almost painful. I had to compare them with the suspicions that were haunting me. Maybe, when we were all together in one room, I would be able to feel sure that I was wrong, that there was nothing sinister about them. As I walked through the doors into the cafeteria, I felt the first tremor of actual fear roll through my stomach. Would they be able to know what I was thinking? And then a different feeling hit my stomach—would Elsa be waiting for me again?

As was my routine, I glanced first toward the Cullens' table. I felt a small rush of panic when I saw that it was empty. With fading hope, I scoured the rest of the cafeteria, hoping to find her there alone. The place was nearly filled—Spanish had run over—but there was no sign of Elsa or any of her family. Just like that, my good mood was reversed.

We were late enough that everyone was already at our table. I vaguely noticed that McKayla had saved a seat for Jeremy, and that his face lit up in response

Allen asked a few quiet questions about the Macbeth paper, which I answered as naturally as I could while my mood was spiraling lower and lower. He invited me to go with them tonight, too, and I agreed now, looking for any distraction.

What if, somehow, Elsa knew what I'd done this weekend? What if digging deeper into her secrets had triggered her disappearance? What if I'd done this to myself?

I realized I'd been holding on to a little bit of hope when I walked into Biology, saw her empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment.

The rest of the day dragged. I couldn't follow the discussion in Biology, and I didn't even try to keep up with Coach Clapp's lecture on the rules of badminton. I was glad to finally leave campus, so I could stop pretending I was fine until it was time to go to Port Angeles. But right after I walked through my front door, the phone rang. It was Jeremy, canceling our plans. I tried to sound glad that McKayla had asked him to dinner, but I think I sounded irritated. The movie got rescheduled to Tuesday.

Which left me with no distractions. I put some fish in a marinade and then finished up my new homework, but that only took a half hour. I checked my e-mail and realized I'd been ignoring my mom. She wasn't happy about it.

Mom,

Sorry. I've been out. I went to the beach with some friends. And I had to write a paper.

My excuses were pretty pathetic, so I gave up on that.

It's sunny outside today—I know, I'm shocked, too—so I'm going to go outside and soak up as much vitamin D as I can. Love you, Beau.

I had a small collection of my favorite books that I'd brought to Forks, and now I grabbed Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, plus an old quilt from the linen cupboard at the top of the stairs.

Outside, I threw the quilt into the middle of the sunniest spot in Charlie's small square yard, then threw myself on top of it. I flipped through the paperback, waiting for a word or phrase to catch my interest—usually a giant squid or narwhal would be adequate—but today I went through the book twice without finding anything intriguing enough to start me reading. I snapped the book shut. Fine, whatever. I'd get a sunburn instead. I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes.

I tried to reason with myself. There was no need to freak out. Elsa had said she was going camping. Maybe the others had been planning to join her all along. Maybe they'd all decided to stay an extra day because the weather was so nice. Missing a few days wasn't going to affect any of her perfect grades. I could relax. I would see her again tomorrow for sure.

Even if she, or one of the others, could know what I was thinking, it was hardly a reason for skipping town. I didn't believe any of it myself, and it wasn't like I was going to say anything to someone else. It was stupid. I knew the whole idea was completely ridiculous. Obviously, there was no reason for anyone—vampire or not—to overreact.

It was just as ridiculous to imagine that someone could read my mind. I needed to stop being so paranoid. Elsa would be back tomorrow. No one had ever found neuroticism attractive, and I doubted she would be the first.

Mellow. Relaxed. Normal. I could handle that. Just breathe in and out.

The next thing I was aware of was the sound of Charlie's car turning onto the bricks of the driveway. I sat up, surprised that the light was gone and I was deep in the shadow of the trees now. I must have fallen asleep. I looked around, still half out of it, with the sudden feeling that I wasn't alone.

"Charlie?" I asked. But I could hear his door slamming in front of the house.

I jumped up, feeling edgy and also stupid for feeling that way, and grabbed the quilt and my book. I hurried inside to get some oil heating on the stove; thanks to my nap, dinner would be late. Charlie was hanging up his gun belt and stepping out of his boots when I came in.

"Sorry, dinner's not ready yet—I fell asleep outside." I yawned hugely.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I wanted to catch the score on the game anyway."

I watched TV with Charlie after dinner, for something to do. There wasn't anything on I wanted to watch, but he knew I didn't care about baseball, so he turned it to some mindless sitcom that neither of us enjoyed. He seemed happy, though, to be doing something together. And it felt good, despite my idiotic depression, to make him happy.

"FYI, Dad," I said during a commercial, "I'm going to a movie with some of the guys from school tomorrow night, so you'll be on your own."

"Anyone I know?" he asked.

Who didn't he know here? "Jeremy Stanley, Allen Weber, and Logan whatever-his-last-name-is."

"Mallory," he told me.

"If you say so."

"Fine, but it's a school night, so don't go crazy."

"We're leaving right after school, so we won't be too late. You want me to put something out for your dinner?"

"Anna, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded me.

"I don't know how you survived," I muttered.

Everything felt less gloomy in the morning—it was sunny again—but I tried not to get my hopes up. I dressed for the warmer weather in a thin sweater—something I'd worn in the dead of winter in Phoenix.

I had planned my arrival at school so that I barely had time to make it to class. My mood quickly deteriorated while I circled the full lot looking for a space…and also searching for the silver Volvo that was clearly not there.

It was the same as yesterday—I just couldn't keep little sprouts of hope from budding in my mind, only to have them squashed painfully as I searched the lunchroom in vain and sat at my empty Biology table. What if she never came back? What if I never saw her again?

The Port Angeles plan was back on again for tonight, and it was all the more welcome because Logan couldn't make it. I couldn't wait to get out of town so I could stop glancing over my shoulder, hoping to see her appearing out of the blue the way she always did. I committed to being in a good mood so that I wouldn't annoy Jeremy and Allen. Maybe I could find a decent bookstore while I was out. I didn't want to think that I might be looking alone in Seattle this weekend. She wouldn't really cancel without even telling me, would she? But then, who knew what social rules vampires felt compelled to follow?

After school, Jeremy followed me home in his old white Mercury so that I could ditch my truck, and then we headed to Allen's. He was waiting for us. My mood started to lift as we drove out of the town limits.


	8. port angles

JEREMY DROVE FASTER THAN THE CHIEF, SO WE MADE IT TO PORT ANGELES by four. He took us to the florist first, where the glossy woman behind the counter quickly upsold Allen from roses to orchids. Allen made decisions fast, but it took Jeremy a lot longer to figure out what he wanted. The saleswoman made it sound like all the details would be really important to the girls, but I had a hard time believing anyone could care that much.

While Jeremy debated ribbon colors with the woman, Allen and I sat on a bench by the plate glass windows.

"Hey, Allen…"

He looked up, probably noticing the edge in my voice. "Yeah?"

I tried to sound more like I was just randomly curious, like I didn't care what the answer was.

"Do the, uh, Cullens miss school a lot—I mean, is that normal for them?"

Allen looked over his shoulder through the window while he answered, and I was sure he was being nice. No doubt he could see how awkward I felt asking, despite how hard I was trying to play it cool.

"Yeah, when the weather's good they go backpacking all the time—even the doctor. They're all really into nature or something."

He didn't ask one question, or make one snide comment about my obvious and pathetic crush. Allen was probably the nicest kid at Forks High School.

"Oh," I said, and let it drop.

After what felt like a long time, Jeremy finally settled on white flowers with a white bow, kind of anticlimactic. But when the orders were signed and paid for, we still had extra time before the movie was set to start.

Jeremy wanted to see if there was anything new at the video game store a few blocks to the east.

"Do you guys mind if I run an errand? I'll meet you at the theater."

"Sure." Jeremy was already towing Allen up the street.

It was a relief to be alone again. The field trip was backfiring. Sure, Allen's answer had been encouraging, but I just couldn't force myself into a good mood. Nothing helped me think about Elsa less. Maybe a really good book.

I headed in the opposite direction from the others, wanting to be by myself. I found a bookstore a couple of blocks south of the florist, but it wasn't what I was looking for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books on spiritual healing. I thought about going inside to ask directions to another bookstore, but one look at the fifty-year-old hippie smiling dreamily behind the counter convinced me that I didn't need to have that conversation. I would find a normal bookstore on my own.

I wandered up another street, and then found myself on an angled byway that confused me. I hoped I was heading toward downtown again, but I wasn't sure if the road was going to curve back in the direction I wanted or not. I knew I should be paying more attention, but I couldn't stop thinking about what Allen had said, and about Saturday, and what I was supposed to do if she didn't come back, and then I looked up and saw someone's silver Volvo parked along the street—not a sedan, this was an SUV, but still—and suddenly I was mad. Were all vampires this unreliable?

I trudged off in what I thought was a northeasterly direction, heading for some glass-fronted buildings that looked promising, but when I got to them, it was just a vacuum repair shop—closed—and a vacant space. I walked around the corner of the repair shop to see if there were any other stores.

It was a wrong turn—just leading around to a side alley where the dumpsters were. But it wasn't empty. Staring at the huddled circle of people, I tripped on the curb and staggered forward noisily.

Six faces turned in my direction. There were four men and two women. One of the women and two of the men quickly turned their backs to me, shoving their hands in their pockets, and I had the impression that they were hiding the things they'd been holding. The other woman had dark black hair, and she looked strangely familiar as she glared in my direction. But I didn't stop to figure out how I knew her. When one of the men had spun around, I'd gotten a quick glimpse of what looked a lot like a gun stuffed into the back of his jeans.

I started walking forward, crossing the mouth of the alley and heading on to the next street, like I hadn't noticed them there. Just as I was out of view, I heard a voice whisper behind me.

"It's a cop."

I glanced behind me, hoping to see someone in uniform, but there was no one else on the empty street. I was farther off the main road than I'd realized. Picking up the pace, I watched the pavement so I wouldn't trip again.

I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several gray warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port Angeles that guests were supposed to see. It was getting dark now—the clouds were back and piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. I'd left my jacket in Jeremy's car, and a sharp wind made me shove my hands in my pockets. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.

Hey, pig," a woman's voice called from behind me.

I looked back, and it was the woman I'd seen before, the familiar one. Behind her were two of the men from the alley—a tall bald guy and the shorter man who I thought might be the one who'd had the gun.

"What?" I asked, slowing automatically. She was looking straight at me. "I'm sorry, do you mean me?"

"Sorry?" she repeated. They were still walking toward me, and I backed away, toward the south side of the road. "Is that your favorite word or something?"

"I—I'm…sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

She pursed her lips—they were painted a dark, sticky red—and suddenly I knew where I'd seen her before. She was with the guy I'd knocked with my bag when I first arrived in Port Angeles. I looked at the shorter guy, and sure enough, I could see the tops of the tattoos on either side of his neck.

"Aren't you gonna call for backup, Officer?" he asked.

I had to glance behind myself again. It was just me. "I think you've got the wrong girl."

"Sure we do," the woman said. "And you didn't see anything back there, either, did you?"

"See anything? No. No, I didn't see anything."

My heel caught on something as I backed away, and I started to wobble. I threw my arms out, trying to balance, and the taller man, the one I'd never seen before, reacted.

He was pointing a handgun at me.

I'd thought it was the shorter guy who'd had the gun. Maybe they all had guns.

"Hey, hey," I said, holding my hands higher so he could see they were empty. "I'm not a cop. I'm still in high school." I kept edging away until my back ran into the chain-link fence.

"You think I'm stupid?" the woman asked. "You think your plainclothes getup fools me? I saw you with your cop partner, Vice."

"What? No, that was my dad," I said, and my voice broke.

She laughed. "You're just a baby pig?"

"Sure, okay. So that's cleared up. I'll get out of your way now.…" I started sliding along the fence.

"Stop."

It was the bald man, still pointing the gun. I froze.

"What are you doing?" the short guy said to him. His voice was low, but the street was very quiet, and I could hear him easily.

"I don't believe him," the tall one said.

The woman smiled. "How's that pirate song go? Dead men tell no tales."

"What?" I croaked. "No, look, that's—that's not necessary. I'm not telling any tales. There's nothing to tell."

"That's right," she agreed. She looked up at the tall man and nodded.

"My wallet's right here in my pocket," I offered. "There's not much in it, but you're welcome to it.…" I started to reach for my pocket, but that was the wrong move. The gun jumped up an inch. I put my hand in the air again.

"We need to keep this quiet," the short one cautioned, and he bent to grab a broken piece of pipe from the gutter. "Put the gun away."

As soon as the gun was down, I was going to bolt, and the bald guy seemed to know that. He hesitated while the tattooed one started toward me.

Zigzag, that was what my dad had told me once. It was hard to hit a moving target, especially one that wasn't moving in a straight line. It would help if I weren't doomed to trip over something. Just once, let me be sure on my feet. I could do that once, right? Just once, when my life depended on it?

How much would a nonfatal bullet wound hurt? Would I be able to keep running through the pain? I hoped so.

I tried to unlock my knees. The man with the pipe was only a few paces away from me now.

A shrill squeal froze him in place. We all stared up as the noise turned piercing.

Headlights flew around the corner and then barreled right at me. The car was just inches from hitting the tattooed guy before he jumped out of the way. The chain-link rattled when he rammed into it. I turned to run, but the car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door flying open just a few feet from me.

"Get in," a furious voice hissed.

I dove into the Volvo's dark interior, not even questioning how she'd come to be here, relief and a new panic swamping me at the same time. What if she got hurt? I yanked the door shut behind me while I shouted.

"Drive, Elsa, get out of here. He's got a gun."

But the car didn't move.

"Keep your head down," she ordered, and I heard the driver's side door open.

I reached out blindly toward the sound of her voice, and my hand caught her slim, cold arm. She froze when I touched her. There was no give, though my fingers wrapped tight around the leather of her jacket.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. "Drive!"

My eyes were adjusting, and I could just make out her eyes in the reflected glow of the headlights. First they looked at my hand gripping her arm, then they narrowed and glared out the windshield toward where the man and the woman must be watching, evaluating. They could shoot at any second.

"Give me just a minute here, Anna." I could tell her teeth were clenched together.

I knew she would have no problem breaking free of my grasp, but she seemed to be waiting for me to let her go. That wasn't going to happen.

"If you go out there, I'm going with you," I said quietly. "I'm not letting you get shot."

Her eyes glared forward for another half-second, and then her door slammed shut and we were reversing at what felt like about sixty.

"Fine," she huffed.

The car spun in a tight arc as we raced backward around a corner, and then suddenly we were speeding forward.

"Put on your seat belt," she told me.

I had to drop her arm to obey, but that was probably a good idea anyway. It wasn't exactly a normal thing, holding on to a girl like that. Still…I was sad to let go.

The snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness.

She took a sharp left, then blew through several stop signs without a pause.

But I felt oddly at ease, and totally unconcerned about where we were going. I stared at her face—lit only by the dim dashboard lights—and felt a profound relief that went beyond my lucky escape.

She was here. She was real.

It took me a few minutes of staring at her perfect face to realize more than that. To realize that she looked super, super pissed.

"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised by how hoarse my voice was.

"No," she snapped.

I waited in silence, watching her face while her eyes glared straight ahead.

The car came to a sudden, screeching stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything besides the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.

"Are you hurt at all, Anna?" she asked, her voice hard.

"No." My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly. "Are you?"

She looked at me then, with a kind of irritated disbelief. "Of course I'm not hurt."

"Good," I said. "Um, can I ask why you're so mad? Did I do something?"

She exhaled in a sudden gust. "Don't be stupid, Anna."

"Sorry."

She gave me another disbelieving look and then shook her head. "Do you think you would be all right if I left you here in the car for just a few—"

Before she could finish, I reached out to grab her hand where it rested on the gearshift. She reacted by freezing again; she didn't pull her hand away.

It was the first time I'd really touched her skin, when it wasn't accidental and just for a fraction of a second. Though her hand was as cold as I expected, my hand seemed to burn from the contact. Her skin was so smooth.

"You're not going anywhere without me."

She glared at me, and like before, it was as if she were waiting for me to let go instead of just yanking free like she could easily have done.

After a moment, she closed her eyes.

"Fine," she said again. "Give me a moment."

I was okay with that. I kept my hand lightly on hers, taking advantage of her closed eyes to stare openly. Slowly, the tension in her face started to relax until it was smooth and blank as a statue. A beautiful statue, carved by an artistic genius. Aphrodite, maybe. Was that the one who was supposed to be the goddess of beauty?

There was that faint fragrance in the car again—something elusive that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Then her eyes opened, and she looked slowly down at my hand.

"Do you…want me to let go?" I asked.

Her voice was careful. "I think that might be for the best."

"You're not going anywhere?" I checked.

"I suppose not, if you're that opposed."

Unwillingly, I pulled my hand from hers. It felt like I'd been holding a handful of ice cubes.

"Better?" I asked.

She took a deep breath. "Not really."

"What is it, Elsa? What's wrong?"

She almost smiled, but there was no humor in her eyes. "This may come as a surprise to you, Beau, but I have a little bit of a temper. Sometimes it's hard for me to forgive easily when someone…offends me."

"Did I—"

"Stop, Anna," she said before I could even get the second word fully out. "I'm not talking about you." She looked up at me with her eyes wide. "Do you realize that they were serious? That they were actually going to kill you?"

"Yeah, I kinda figured they were going to try."

"It's completely ridiculous!" It seemed like she was working herself up again. "Who gets murdered in Port Angeles? What is it with you, Anna? Why does everything deadly come looking for you?"

I blinked. "I…I have no answer for that."

She tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips, exhaling through her nose. "So I'm not allowed to go teach those thugs a lesson in manners?"

"Um, no. Please?"

She sighed a long, slow sigh, and her eyes closed again. "How disagreeable."

We sat in silence for a moment while I tried to think of something to say that would make up for…I guess, disappointing her? That was what it seemed like—that she was disappointed I was asking her not to go looking for multiple armed gangsters who had…offended her by threatening me. It didn't make much sense—and even less so when you factored in that she had asked me to stay in the car. She was planning to go on foot? We'd driven miles away.

For the first time since I'd seen her tonight, the word Jules had said popped into my mind.

Her eyes opened at the same moment, and I wondered if she'd somehow known what I was thinking. But she just looked at the clock and sighed again.

"Your friends must be worried about you," she said.

It was past six-thirty. I was sure she was right.

Without another word, she started the engine and spun the car around. Then we were speeding back toward town. We were under the streetlights in no time at all, still going too fast, weaving easily through the cars slowly cruising the boardwalk. She parallel parked against the curb in a space I would have thought much too small for the Volvo, but she slid in with one try. I looked out the window to see the theater's brightly lit marquee. Jeremy and Allen were just leaving, pacing away from us.

"How did you know where…?" I started, but then I just shook my head.

"Stop them before I have to track them down, too. I won't be able to restrain myself if I run into your other friends again."

It was strange how her silky voice could sound so…menacing.

I jumped out of the car but kept my hand on the frame. Like before, holding her here.

"Jer! Allen!" I shouted.

They weren't very far away. They both turned, and I waved my free arm over my head. They rushed back, the relief on both their faces turning to surprise when they took in the car I was standing next to. Allen stared into the recesses of the car, and then his eyes popped wide in recognition.

"What happened to you?" Jeremy demanded. "We thought you took off."

"No, I just got lost. And then I ran into Elsa."

She leaned forward and smiled through the windshield. Now Jeremy's eyes bugged out.

"Oh, hi…Elsa," Allen said.

She waved at him with two fingers, and he swallowed loudly.

"Uh, hey," Jeremy said in her direction; then he stared at me—I must have looked odd, my one hand locked on the frame of the open door, but I wasn't letting go. "So…the movie's already started, I think."

"Sorry about that," I said.

He checked his watch. "It's probably still just running previews. Did you…" He eyed my hand on the car. "…still want to come?"

I hesitated, glancing at Elsa.

"Would you like to come…Elsa?" Allen asked politely, though he had a little trouble getting her name out.

Elsa opened her door and stepped out, shaking her long hair back from her face. She leaned on the frame and threw her dimples at them. Jeremy's mouth fell open.

"I've already seen this one, but thank you, Allen," she said.

Allen blinked and seemed to forget how to speak. It made me feel a little better for always being so stupid around her. Who could help it?

Elsa glanced over at me. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to see this movie now?" she murmured.

Negative five thousand, I thought. "Er, not that much," I whispered back.

She smiled directly at Jeremy now. "Will it ruin your night if I make Anna take me to dinner?" she asked.

Jeremy just shook his head. He hadn't remembered how to close his mouth yet.

"Thanks," she told him, dimpling again. "I'll give Anna a ride home."

She slid back inside.

"Get in the car, Anna," she said.

Allen and Jeremy stared. I shrugged quickly and then ducked into the passenger seat.

"The hell?" I heard Jeremy breathe as I slammed my door.

I didn't get another look at their reactions. She was already racing away.

"Did you really want dinner?" I asked her.

She looked at me questioningly. Was she thinking what I was thinking—that I'd never actually seen her eat anything?

"I thought you might," she finally said.

"I'm good," I told her.

"If you'd rather go home…"

"No, no," I said too quickly. "I can do dinner. I just mean it doesn't have to be that. Whatever you'd like."

She smiled and stopped the car. We were parked right in front of an Italian place.

My palms started to sweat a little as I jumped out of the car, hurrying to hold the restaurant's door for her. I'd never really been on a date like this—a real date date. I'd gotten roped into some group things back in Phoenix, but I could honestly say that I hadn't cared one way or another if I ever saw any of those girls again. This was different. I nearly had a panic attack anytime I thought this girl might disappear.

She smiled at me as she walked past, and my heart did this weird double-beat thing.

The restaurant wasn't crowded—this was the off-season in Port Angeles. The host was a meticulously groomed guy a few years older than me, about my height but thicker through the shoulders. His eyes did that same thing that Allen's and Jeremy's had, bugging out for a second before he got control of his expression. Then it was his smarmiest smile and a goofy deep bow, all for her. I was pretty sure he didn't even know I was standing there next to her.

"What can I do for you?" he asked as he straightened up, still looking only at her.

"A table for two, please."

For the first time, he seemed to realize I was there. The look he gave me was quick and dismissive. His eyes shifted back to her immediately, not that I could blame him for that.

"Of course, er, mademoiselle." He grabbed two leather folders and gestured for Elsa to follow. I rolled my eyes. Signorina was probably what he'd been looking for.

He led us to a four-top in the middle of the most crowded part of the dining room. I reached for a chair, but Elsa shook her head at me.

"Perhaps something more private?" she said quietly to the host. It looked like she brushed the top of his hand with her fingers, which I already knew was unlike her—she didn't touch people if she could help it—but then I saw him slide that hand to a pocket inside his suit coat, and I realized that she must have given him a tip. I'd never seen anyone refuse a table like that except in old movies

Of course," the host said, sounding as surprised as I was. He led us around a partition to a small ring of booths, all of them empty. "How is this?"

"Perfect," she said, and unleashed her smile on him.

Like a deer in headlights, the host froze for a long second, and then he slowly turned and staggered back toward the main floor, our menus still in the crook of his arm.

Elsa slid into one side of the closest booth, sitting close to the edge so that my only option was to sit facing her with the length of the table between us. After a second of hesitation, I sat, too.

Something thudded a couple of times on the other side of the partition, like the sound of someone tripping over his own feet and then recovering. It was a sound I was familiar with.

"That wasn't very nice."

She stared at me, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever that thing you do is—with the dimples and the hypnotizing or whatever. That guy could hurt himself trying to get back to the door."

She half-smiled. "I do a thing?"

"Like you don't know the effect you have on people."

"I suppose I can think of a few effects.…" Her expression went dark for a tiny second, but then it cleared and she smiled. "But no one's ever accused me of hypnotism by dimples before."

"Do you think other people get their way so easily?"

She tilted her head to the side, ignoring my question. "Does it work on you—this thing you think I do?"

I sighed. "Every time."

And then our server arrived with an expectant expression, which quickly shifted to awe. Whatever the host had told him, it had been an understatement.

"Hello," he said, surprise making his voice monotone as he mechanically recited his lines. "My name is Sal, and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you to drink?"

Like the host's, his eyes never strayed from her face.

"Anna?" she prompted.

"Um, a Coke?"

I might as well not have spoken at all. The waiter just kept staring at Elsa. She flashed a grin at me before turning to him.

"Two Cokes," she told him, and, almost like an experiment, she smiled a wide, dimpled smile right into his face.

He actually wobbled, like he was going to keel over.

She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. The waiter shook his head and blinked, trying to reorient. I watched sympathetically. I knew just how he felt.

"And a menu?" she added when he didn't move.

"Yes, of course, I'll be right back with that." He was still shaking his head as he walked out of sight.

"You've seriously never noticed that before?" I asked her.

"It's been a while since I cared what anyone thought about me," she said. "And I don't usually smile so much."

"Probably safer that way—for everyone."

"Everyone but you. Shall we talk about what happened tonight?"

"Huh?"

"Your near-death experience? Or did you already forget?"

"Oh." Actually, I had.

She frowned. "How do you feel?"

"What do you mean?" I hoped she didn't turn on the hypnotist eyes and make me tell the truth, because what I felt right now was…euphoria. She was right here, with me—on purpose—I'd gotten to touch her hand, and I probably had a few hours ahead to spend with her, too, since she'd promised to drive me home. I'd never felt so happy and so off-balance at the same time.

"Are you cold, dizzy, sick…?"

The way she listed the words reminded me of a doctor's exam. And I didn't feel cold or sick…or dizzy in a medical way. "Should I?"

She laughed. "I'm wondering if you're going to go into shock," she admitted. "I've seen it happen with less provocation."

"Oh. No, I think I'm fine, thanks." Honestly, almost being murdered was not the most interesting thing that had happened to me tonight, and I hadn't really thought much about it.

"Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some food in you."

On cue, the waiter appeared with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. He stood with his back to me while he placed them on the table, then handed Elsa a menu. Done with her experiments, she didn't so much as look at him this time. She just pushed the menu across the table to me.

He cleared his throat nervously. "There are a few specials. Um, we have a mushroom ravioli and—"

"Sounds great," I interrupted; I didn't care what I got—food was the last thing on my mind. "I'll have that." I spoke a little louder than necessary, but I wasn't sure he really knew I was sitting here.

He finally threw a surprised glance my way, and then his attention was back to her.

"And for you…?"

"That's all we need. Thank you."

Of course.

He waited for a second, hoping for another smile, I thought. A glutton for punishment. When Elsa kept her eyes on me, he gave up and walked away.

"Drink," Elsa said. It sounded like an order.

I took a sip obediently, then another bigger gulp, surprised to find that I was actually pretty thirsty. I'd sucked down the entire glass before I knew it, and she slid her glass toward me.

"No, I'm fine," I told her.

"I'm not going to drink it," she said, and her tone added the duh.

Right," I said and, because I was still thirsty, I downed hers, too.

"Thanks," I muttered, while the word I didn't want to think swirled around my head again. The cold from the soda was radiating through my chest, and I had to shake off a shiver.

"You're cold?" she asked, serious now. Like a doctor again.

"It's just the Coke," I explained, fighting another shiver.

"Don't you have a jacket?"

"Yeah." Automatically, I patted the empty seat next to me. "Oh—I left it in Jeremy's car," I realized. I shrugged, and then shivered.

Elsa started unwinding a bone-colored scarf from around her neck. I realized that I'd never once really noticed what she was wearing—not just tonight, but ever. The only thing I could remember was the black gown from my nightmare.…But though I hadn't processed the particulars, I knew that in reality she always wore light colors. Like tonight—under the scarf she had on a pale gray leather jacket, cut short like motorcycle gear, and a thin white turtleneck sweater. I was pretty sure she usually kept her skin covered, which made me think of the deep V of the black dream gown again, and that was a mistake. A patch of warmth started to bloom on the side of my neck.

"Here," she said, tossing the scarf to me.

I pushed it back. "Really, I'm fine."

She cocked her head to the side. "The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, Anna," she stated. "It's not a boy's scarf, if that's what's bothering you anyone can wear. I stole it from Archie."

"I don't need it," I insisted.

"Fine, Royal has a jacket in the trunk, I'll be right—"

She started to move, and I reached out, trying to catch her hand, to keep her there. She evaded my grasp, folding her hands under the table, but didn't get up.

"Don't go," I said softly. I knew my voice sounded too intense—she was just going out to her car, not disappearing forever—but I couldn't make it sound normal. "I'll wear the scarf. See?"

I grabbed the scarf from the table—it was very soft, and not at all warm, the way it should be after coming off someone's body—and started to wrap it around my neck. I'd never worn a scarf that I could remember, so I just wound it in a circle until I ran out of fabric. At least it would cover the red on my neck. Maybe I should own a scarf.

This one smelled amazing, and familiar. I realized this was a hint of the fragrance from the car. It must be her.

"Did I do it right?" I asked her. The soft knit was already warming to my skin, and it did help.

"It suits you," she said, but then she laughed, so I guessed that meant the answer was no.

"Do you steal a lot of things from, um, Archie?"

She shrugged. "He has the best taste."

"You never told me about your family. We ran out of time the other day." Was it only last Thursday? It seemed like a lot longer.

She pushed the basket of breadsticks toward me.

"I'm not going into shock," I told her.

"Humor me?" she said, and then she did the thing with the smile and the eyes that always won.

"Ugh," I grumbled as I grabbed a breadstick.

"Good girl," she laughed.

I just gave her a dark look as I chewed.

"I don't know how you can be so blasé about this," she said. "You don't even look shaken. A normal person—" She shook her head. "But then you're not so normal, are you?"

I shook my head and swallowed. "I'm the most normal person I know."

"Everyone thinks that about themselves."

"Do you think that about yourself?" I challenged.

She pursed her lips.

"Right," I said. "Do you ever consider answering any of my questions, or is that not even on the table?"

"It depends on the question."

"So tell me one I'm allowed to ask."

She was still thinking about that when the waiter came around the partition with my food. I realized we'd been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as he approached. He set the dish in front of me—it looked pretty good—and turned quickly to Elsa.

"Did you change your mind?" he asked. "Isn't there anything I can get you?" I didn't think I was imagining the double meaning in his offer.

"Some more soda would be nice," she said, gesturing to the empty glasses without looking away from me.

The waiter stared at me now, and I could tell he was wondering why someone like Elsa would be looking at someone like me that way. Well, it was a mystery to me, too.

He grabbed the glasses and stalked off.

"I imagine you have a lot of questions for me," Elsa murmured.

"Just a couple thousand," I said.

"I'm sure.…Can I ask you one first? Is that unfair?"

Did that mean she was going to answer mine? I nodded eagerly. "What do you want to know?"

She stared down at the table now, her eyes hidden under her black lashes. Her hair fell forward, shielding more of her face.

The words weren't much more than a whisper. "We spoke before, about how you were…trying to figure out what I am. I was just wondering if you'd made any more progress with that."

I didn't answer, and finally she looked up. I was glad for the scarf again, though it couldn't hide the red I could feel creeping up into my face now

What could I say? Had I made progress? Or just stumbled into another theory even more stupid than radioactive spiders? How could I say that word out loud, the one I'd been trying not to think all night?

I don't know what my face must have looked like, but her expression suddenly softened.

"It's that bad, then?" she asked.

"Can I—can we not talk about it here?" I glanced at the thin partition that separated us from the rest of the restaurant.

"Very bad," she murmured, half to herself. There was something very sad and…almost old about her eyes. Tired, defeated. It hurt me in a strange way to see her unhappy.

"Well," I said, trying to make my voice lighter. "Actually, if I answer your question first, I know you won't answer mine. You never do. So…you first."

Her face relaxed. "An exchange, then?"

"Yes."

The waiter returned with the Cokes. He set them on the table without a word this time and disappeared. I wondered if he could feel the tension as strongly as I could.

"I suppose we can try that," Elsa murmured. "But no promises."

"Okay.…" I started with the easy one. "So what brings you to Port Angeles tonight?"

She looked down, folding her hands carefully on the empty table in front of her. She glanced up at me from under the thick lashes, and there was a hint of a smile on her face.

"Next," she said.

"But that's the easiest one!"

She shrugged. "Next?"

I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled my silverware, picked up my fork, and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed and took a sip of Coke before I looked up.

"Fine, then." I glared at her, and continued slowly. "Let's say, hypothetically, that…someone…could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with just a few exceptions." It sounded so stupid. There was no way, if she wouldn't comment on the first one…

But then she looked at me calmly and said, "Just one exception. Hypothetically."

Well, damn.

It took me a minute to recover. She waited patiently.

"Okay." I worked to sound casual. "Just one exception, then. How would something like that work? What are the limitations? How would…that someone…find someone else at exactly the right time? How would she even know I was in trouble?" My convoluted questions weren't making any sense by the end.

"Hypothetically?" she asked.

"Right."

"Well, if…that someone—"

"Call her Jane," I suggested.

She smiled wryly. "If your Hypothetical Jane had been paying better attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." She rolled her eyes. "I'm still not over how this could happen at all. How does anyone get into so much trouble, so consistently, and in such unlikely places? You would have devastated Port Angeles's crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

"I don't see how this is my fault."

She stared at me, that familiar frustration in her eyes. "I don't, either. But I don't know who to blame."

"How did you know?"

She locked eyes with me, torn, and I guessed she was wrestling against the desire to just tell me the truth.

"You can trust me, you know," I whispered. I reached forward slowly, to put my hand on top of hers, but she slid them back an inch, so I let my hand fall empty to the table.

"It's what I want to do," she admitted, her voice even quieter than mine. "But that doesn't mean it's right."

"Please?" I asked.

She hesitated one more second, and then it came out in a rush.

"I followed you to Port Angeles. I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes. I was wrong before, when I said you were a magnet for accidents. That's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

It didn't bother me at all that she was following me; instead I felt a strange surge of pleasure. She was here for me. She stared, waiting for me to react.

I thought about what she'd said—tonight, and before.…Do you think I could be scary?

"You put yourself into that category, don't you?" I guessed.

Her face turned hard, expressionless. "Unequivocally."

I stretched across the table again, ignoring her when she pulled back slightly once more, and laid my hand on top of hers. She kept them very still. It made them feel like stone—cold, hard, and now motionless. I thought of the statue again.

"That's twice now," I said. "Thank you."

She just stared at me, her mouth twitching into a frown.

I tried to ease the tension, make a joke. "I mean, did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and you're messing with fate? Like those Final Destination movies?"

My joke fell flat. Her frown deepened.

"Elsa?"

She angled her face down again, her hair falling across her cheeks, and I could barely hear her answer

That wasn't the first time," she said. "Your number was up the first day I met you. It's not twice you've almost died, it's three times. The first time I saved you…it was from myself."

As clearly as if I were back in my first Biology class, I could see Elsa's murderous black glare. I heard again the phrase that had run through my head in that moment: If looks could kill…

"You remember?" she asked. She stared at me now, her perfect face very serious. "You understand?"

"Yes."

She waited for more, for another reaction. When I didn't say anything, her eyebrows pulled together.

"You can leave, you know," she told me. "Your friends are still at the movie."

"I don't want to leave."

She was suddenly irritated. "How can you say that?"

I patted her hands, totally calm. This was something I had already decided. It didn't matter to me if she was…something dangerous. But she mattered. Where she was, was where I wanted to be.

"You didn't finish answering my question," I reminded her, ignoring the anger. "How did you find me?"

She glared at me for a moment, like she was willing me to be angry, too. When that didn't work, she shook her head and huffed a sigh.

"I was keeping tabs on Jeremy's thoughts," she said, like it was the most normal thing. "Not carefully—like I said, it's not just anybody who could get themselves murdered in Port Angeles. At first I didn't notice when you set off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with him anymore, I drove around looking for someone who had seen you. I found the bookstore you walked to, but I could tell that you hadn't gone inside. You'd gone south, and I knew you'd have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of everyone I could hear—to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried…but I started to feel anxious.…" She was lost in thought now, staring past me. "I started to drive in circles, still…listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—" She stopped suddenly, her teeth clenching together with an audible snap.

"Then what?"

She refocused on my face. "I heard what she was thinking. I saw your face in her head, and I knew what she was planning to do."

"But you got there in time."

She inclined her head slightly. "It was harder than you know for me to drive away, to just let them get away with that. It was the right thing, I know it was, but still…very difficult."

I tried not to picture what she would have done if I hadn't made her drive away. I didn't want to let my imagination run wild down that particular path.

"That's one reason I made you go to dinner with me," she admitted. "I could have let you go to the movie with Jeremy and Allen, but I was afraid that if I wasn't with you, I would go looking for those people."

My hand still rested on top of hers. My fingers were starting to feel numb, but I didn't care. If she didn't object, I'd never move again. She kept watching me, waiting for a reaction that wasn't going to come.

I knew she was trying to warn me off with all this honesty, but she was wasting the effort.

She took a deep breath. "Are you going to eat anything else?" she asked.

I blinked at my food. "No, I'm good."

"Do you want to go home now?"

I paused. "I'm not in any hurry."

She frowned like my answer bothered her.

"Can I have my hands back now?" she asked.

I snatched my hand away. "Sure. Sorry."

She shot me a glance while she pulled something from her pocket. "Is it possible to go fifteen minutes without an unnecessary apology?"

If it was unnecessary for me to apologize for touching her, did that mean she liked it? Or just wasn't actually offended by it?

"Um, probably not," I admitted.

She laughed once, and then the waiter showed up.

"How are you do—" he started to ask.

She cut him off. "We're finished, thank you very much, that ought to cover it, no change, thanks."

She was already out of her seat.

I fumbled for my wallet. "Um, let me—you didn't even get anything—"

"My treat, Anna."

"But—"

"please just let me pay Anna it's okay."

She walked away, and I rushed to follow, leaving the stunned waiter behind me with what looked like a hundred-dollar bill on the table in front of him.

I passed her, hurrying again to get the door, ignoring what she'd said about antiquated roles. I knew she was faster than I could probably imagine, but the half-filled room of watching people forced her to act like she was one of them. She gave me a strange look when I held the door open—like she was kind of touched by the gesture, but also annoyed by it at the same time. I decided to overlook the annoyed part, and I scrambled past her to hold the car door, too. It opened easily—she'd never locked it. Her expression was more amused than anything at this point, so I took that as a good sign.

I almost ran to the passenger side of the car, trailing my hand across the hood as I moved. I had the nerve-wracking feeling that she was regretting telling me so much, and she might just drive off without me and disappear into the night. Once I was inside, she looked pointedly at my seat belt until I put it on again. I wondered for a second if she was some kind of safety-first absolutist—until I noticed that she hadn't bothered with hers, and we were racing off into the light traffic without a hint of caution on her part.

Now," she said with a grim smile, "it's your turn


	9. theory

CAN—CAN I ASK JUST ONE MORE?" I STUTTERED QUICKLY AS SHE ACCELERATED much too fast down the quiet street.

I was in no hurry to answer her question.

She shook her head. "We had a deal."

"It's not really a question," I argued. "Just a clarification of something you said before."

She rolled her eyes. "Make it quick."

"Well…you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."

She thought about it for a moment, deliberating again.

"I thought we were past all these evasions," I said.

She gave me a kind of you asked for it look. "Fine, then. I followed your scent."

I didn't have a response to that. I stared out the window, trying to process it.

"Your turn, Anna."

"But you didn't answer my other question."

"Oh, come on."

"I'm serious. You didn't tell me how it works—the mind-reading thing. Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family do the same thing?"

It was easier to talk about this in the dark car. The streetlights were behind us already, and in the low gleam from the dashboard, all the crazy stuff seemed just a little more possible.

It seemed like she felt the same sense of non-reality, like normality was on hold for as long as we were in this space together. Her voice was casual as she answered.

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's…'voice' is, the farther away I can hear him. But still, no more than a few miles." She paused thoughtfully. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what he's thinking is clear.

"Most of the time I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem normal"—she frowned as she said the word—"when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" I asked curiously.

She stared at me, eyes seeming to bore right through mine, with that frustrated look I knew well. I realized now that each time she'd looked at me this way, she must have been trying to hear my thoughts, and failing. Her expression relaxed as she gave up.

"I don't know," she murmured. "Maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." She grinned at me, suddenly amused.

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" Her speculation hit home. I'd always suspected as much, and it embarrassed me to have it confirmed.

"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that you're the freak." She laughed. "Don't worry, it's just a theory.…" Her face tightened. "Which brings us back to you."

I frowned. How was I going to say this out loud?

"I thought we were past all these evasions," she reminded me softly.

I looked away from her face, trying to gather my thoughts into words, and my eyes wandered across the dashboard…stopped at the speedometer.

"Holy crow!" I shouted.

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking right and left, rather than straight ahead where she should be looking. The car didn't decelerate.

"You're doing one-ten!" I was still shouting.

I shot a panicked glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall—as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.

"Relax, Anna." She rolled her eyes, still not slowing.

"Are you trying to kill us?" I demanded.

"We're not going to crash."

I carefully modulated my voice. "Why are we in such a hurry, Elsa?"

"I always drive like this." She turned to flash a smile at me.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

"I've never been in an accident, Anna—I've never even gotten a ticket." She grinned and tapped her forehead. "Built-in radar detector."

"Hands on the wheel, Elsa!"

She sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty. "Happy?"

"Almost."

"I hate driving slow," she muttered.

"This is slow?"

"Enough commentary on my driving," she snapped. "I'm still waiting for you to answer my question."

I forced my eyes away from the road in front of us, but I didn't know where to look. It was hard to look at her face, knowing the word I was going to have to say now. My anxiety must have been pretty obvious.

"I promise I won't laugh this time," she said gently.

"I'm not worried about that."

"Then what?"

"That you'll be…upset. Unhappy."

She lifted her hand off the gearshift and held it out toward me—just a few centimeters. An offer. I glanced up quickly, to make sure I understood, and her eyes were soft

Don't worry about me," she said. "I can handle it."

I took her hand, and she curled her fingers very lightly around mine for one short second, then dropped her hand back to the gearshift. Carefully, I placed my hand over the top of hers again. I ran my thumb along the outside of her hand, tracing from her wrist to the tip of her pinkie finger. Her skin was so soft—not that it had any give at all, no, but soft like satin. Smoother, even.

"The suspense is killing me, Anna," she whispered.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to start."

Another long moment of silence, just the purr of the engine and the sound of my hitching breath. I couldn't hear hers at all. I traced back down the side of her perfect hand.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," she suggested, her voice more normal now. Practical. "Is this something you thought up on your own, or did something make you think of it—a comic book, maybe, or a movie?"

"Nothing like that," I said. "But I didn't think of it on my own."

She waited.

"It was Saturday—down at the beach."

I risked a glance up at her face. She looked confused.

"I ran into an old family friend—Jules, Julie Black. Her mom, Bonnie, and Charlie have been close since before I was born."

She still looked confused.

"Bonnie's one of the Quileute leaders.…"

Her confused expression froze in place. It was like all the planes of her face had suddenly hardened into ice. Oddly, she was even more beautiful like that, a goddess again in the light of the dashboard dials. She didn't look very human, though.

She stayed frozen, so I felt compelled to explain the rest.

"There was this Quileute woman on the beach—Sam something. Logan made a comment about you—trying to make fun of me. And this Sam said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like she meant something more than that. Jules seemed like she knew what the woman was talking about, so I got her alone and kept bugging her until she told me…told me the old Quileute legends."

I was surprised when she spoke—her face was so still, and her lips barely moved.

"And what were those legends? What did Jules Black tell you I was?"

I half-opened my mouth, then closed it again.

"What?"

"I don't want to say it," I admitted.

"It's not my favorite word, either." Her face had warmed up a little; she looked human again. "Not saying it doesn't make it go away, though. Sometimes…I think not saying it makes it more powerful."

I wondered if she was right.

"Vampire?" I whispered.

She flinched.

Nope. Saying it out loud didn't make it any less powerful.

Funny how it didn't sound stupid anymore, like it had in my room. It didn't feel like we were talking about impossible things, about old legends or silly horror movies or paperback books. It felt real.

And very powerful.

We drove in silence for another minute, and the word vampire seemed to get bigger and bigger inside the car. It didn't feel like it belonged to her, really, but more like it had the power to hurt her. I tried to think of something, anything to say to erase the sound of it.

Before I could come up with anything, she spoke.

"What did you do then?"

"Oh—um, I did some research on the Internet."

"And that convinced you?" She was very matter-of-fact now.

"No. Nothing fit. Lots of it was really stupid. But I just—"

I stopped abruptly. She waited, then stared at me when I didn't finish.

"You what?" she pushed.

"Well, I mean, it doesn't matter, right? So I just let it go."

Her eyes grew wider and wider, and then suddenly they were narrowed into little slits, glaring at me. I didn't want to point out to her again that she should probably be watching where she was going, but her speed had crept up to past ninety-five now, and she seemed totally unaware of the twisting road ahead of us.

"Um, Elsa—"

"It doesn't matter?" she half-shouted at me, her voice going shrill and almost…metallic. "It doesn't matter?"

"No. Not to me, anyway."

"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human?"

"No."

Finally she stared at the road again, her eyes still long slashes of anger across her face. I could feel the car accelerating under me.

"You're upset. See, I shouldn't have said anything," I mumbled.

She shook her head, then answered through her teeth. "No, I'd rather know what you're thinking, even if what you're thinking is insane."

"Sorry."

She blew out an exasperated sigh, and then it was quiet again for a few minutes. I stroked my thumb slowly up and down her hand.

"What are you thinking about now?" she asked. Her voice was calmer.

"Um…nothing, really."

"It drives me crazy, not knowing."

"I don't want to…I don't know, offend you."

"Spit it out, Anna."

"I have lots of questions. But you don't have to answer them. I'm just curious."

"About what?"

"How old you are."

"Seventeen."

I stared at her for a minute, till half her mouth twitched up into a smile.

"How long have you been seventeen?" I asked

"A while," she admitted.

I smiled. "Okay."

She looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

This was better, though. Easier, with her just being herself, not worrying about keeping me in the dark. I liked being on the inside. Her world was where I wanted to be.

"Don't laugh—but how do you come outside in the daytime?"

She laughed anyway. "Myth."

The sound of her laughter was warm. It made me feel like I had swallowed a bunch of sunlight. My smile got bigger.

"Burned by the sun?"

"Myth."

"Sleeping in coffins?"

"Myth." She hesitated for a moment, and then added softly, "I can't sleep."

It took me a minute to absorb that. "At all?"

"Never," she murmured. She turned to look at me with a wistful expression. I held her gaze, my eyes getting trapped in her golden stare. After a few seconds, I'd completely lost my train of thought.

Suddenly she turned away, her eyes narrowing again. "You haven't asked me the most important question yet."

"The most important question?" I echoed. I couldn't think of what she meant.

"Aren't you curious about my diet?" she asked, her tone mocking.

"Oh. That one."

"Yes. That one," she said bleakly. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

I winced. "Well, Jules said something about that."

"Did she now?"

"She said you didn't…hunt people. Your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"She said we weren't dangerous?" Her voice was deeply skeptical.

"Not exactly. Jules said you weren't supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

She looked forward, but I couldn't tell if she was watching the road or not.

"So, was she right? About not hunting people?" I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

"The Quileutes have a long memory," she whispered.

I took that as a confirmation.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," she warned me. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We…try," she explained. Her voice got heavier and slower. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make…mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a mistake?" I heard the hurt in my voice, but I didn't know if she could, too.

"A very dangerous one," she murmured.

We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn't look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road underneath us, and I was suddenly terrified that I would never have another chance to be with her like this again—openly, the walls between us gone for once. What she was saying kind of sounded like…goodbye. My hand tightened over hers. I couldn't waste one minute I had with her.

"Tell me more." I didn't really care what she said, I just wanted to listen to her voice.

She looked at me quickly, seeming startled by the change in my tone. "What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I said. It was the first question I could think of. My voice sounded thick. I double-blinked the extra moisture from my eyes.

Her answer was very low. "I don't want to be a monster."

"But animals aren't enough?"

She paused. "I can't be sure, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." Her tone darkened. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now?" I asked.

She sighed. "Yes."

"But you're not hungry now," I said—stating, not asking.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes. I have a theory about that. Seems like the color is linked to your mood—and people are generally crabbier when they're hungry, right?"

She laughed. "You're more observant than I gave you credit for."

I listened to the sound of her laugh, committing it to memory.

"So everything I thought I saw—that day with the van. That all happened for real. You caught the van."

She shrugged. "Yes."

"How strong are you?"

She glanced at me from the side of her eye. "Strong enough."

"Like, could you lift five thousand pounds?"

She looked a little thrown by my enthusiasm. "If I needed to. But I'm not much into feats of strength. They just make Eleanor competitive, and I'll never be that strong."

"How strong?"

"Honestly, if she wanted to, I think she could lift a mountain over her head. But I would never say that around her, because then she would have to try." She laughed, and it was a relaxed sound. Affectionate.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with, uh, Eleanor?" I asked when it was quiet again.

"Yes." She paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

"It makes me…anxious…to be away from you." Her eyes were gentle, but intense, and they made it hard to breathe in and out like normal. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." She shook her head, and then seemed to remember something. "Well, not totally unscathed."

"What?"

"Your hands," she reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. She didn't miss anything.

"I fell."

"That's what I thought." Her lips curved up at the corners. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that was the possibility that tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Eleanor's nerves."

"Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't you at school?" I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much her absence had affected me.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," she promised.

I thought about it for a moment. "You could have told me."

She was puzzled. "But I knew you were fine."

"Yeah, but I didn't know where you were. I—" I hesitated, dropping my eyes.

"What?" Her silky voice was as hypnotic as her eyes.

"It's going to sound stupid…but, well, it kind of freaked me out. I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and…I was afraid you would disappear. I didn't know what I was going to do. I had to see you again." My cheeks started heating up.

She was quiet. I glanced up—she looked pained, like something was hurting her.

"Elsa, are you okay?"

"Ah," she groaned quietly. "This is wrong."

I couldn't understand her response. "What did I say?"

"Don't you see, Anna? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." She turned her anguished eyes to the road, her words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way. It's wrong. It's not safe. I'll hurt you, Anna. You'll be lucky to get out alive."

"I don't care."

"That's a really stupid thing to say."

"Maybe, but it's true. I told you, it doesn't matter to me what you are. It's too late."

Her voice whipped out, low and sharp. "Never say that. It's not too late. I can put things back the way they were. I will."

I stared straight ahead, glad again for the scarf. My neck was a mass of crimson splotches, I was sure.

"I don't want things back the way they were," I mumbled. I wondered if I was supposed to move my hand. I held it still. Maybe she would forget it was there.

"I'm sorry I've done this to you." Her voice burned with real regret.

The darkness slipped by us in silence. I realized the car was slowing, and even in the dark I recognized the landmarks. We were passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Do you want to?" she whispered.

"More than anything else I've ever wanted." It was pathetic how obviously true the words were. So much for playing hard to get.

She closed her eyes. The car didn't deviate so much as half an inch from the center of the lane.

"Then I'll be there," she finally said. "I do have a paper to turn in."

She looked at me then, and her face was calmer, but her eyes were troubled.

We were suddenly in front of Charlie's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything totally normal. It was like waking up from a dream—the kind you didn't want to lose, the kind you kept your eyes closed tight for, rolled over and covered your head with a pillow for, trying to find a way back in. She shut off the engine, but I didn't move.

"Save me a seat at lunch?" I asked hesitantly.

I was rewarded with a wide smile. "That's easy enough."

"You promise?" I couldn't keep the tone light enough.

"I promise."

I stared into her eyes and it was like she was a magnet again, like she was pulling me toward her and I had no power to resist. I didn't want to try. The word vampire was still there between us, but it was easier to ignore than I would have thought possible. Her face was so unbearably perfect, it hurt in a strange way to look at it. At the same time, I never wanted to look away. I wanted to know if her lips were as silky smooth as the skin of her hand—

Suddenly her left hand was there, palm forward, an inch from my face, warning me back, and she was cringing against the car door, her eyes wide and frightened and her teeth clenched together.

I jerked away from her.

"Sorry!"

She stared at me for a long moment, and I would swear she wasn't breathing. After a long moment, she relaxed a little.

"You have to be more careful than that, Anna," she said finally in a dull voice

Cautiously—like I was made of glass or something—her left hand lifted mine off her right and then let it go. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Maybe—" she began.

"I can do better than that," I interrupted quickly. "Just tell me the rules, and I'll follow them. Whatever you want from me."

She sighed.

"Seriously. Tell me to do something, and I'll do it."

I regretted the words the second they were out of my mouth. What if she asked me to forget about her? There were some things that weren't in my power to do.

But she smiled. "All right, I've got one."

"Yeah?" I asked, wary.

"Don't go in the woods alone again."

I could feel the surprise on my face. "How did you know that?"

She touched the tip of her nose.

"Really? You must have an incredible sense—"

"Are you going to agree to what I ask or not?" she interrupted.

"Sure, that one's easy. Can I ask why?"

She frowned, her eyes tight again as she stared out the window past me. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

The sudden bleakness in her voice made me shiver, but I was relieved, too. She could have asked for something much harder. "Whatever you say."

She sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Anna."

I knew she wanted me to leave now. I opened the door unwillingly.

"Tomorrow," I emphasized. I started to climb out.

"Anna?"

I turned and ducked back awkwardly, and she was leaning toward me, her pale goddess face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating.

"Sleep well," she said. Her breath blew into my face—it was the same compelling scent that haunted her car, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, totally stunned. She leaned away.

It took me a few seconds till my brain unscrambled and I was able to move again. I backed out of the car, having to use the frame for balance. I thought she might have laughed, but the sound was too quiet for me to be sure.

She waited till I'd stumbled to the front door, and then her engine quietly revved. I turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner. It was suddenly really cold.

I reached for the key automatically and unlocked the front door.

"Anna?" my dad called from the living room.

"Yeah, Dad, it's me." I locked the door and then went to find him. He was on his favorite couch, a baseball game on the TV.

"Movie over so early?"

"Is it early?" It seemed like I'd been with her for days…or maybe it was just a few seconds. Not long enough.

"It's not even eight yet," he told me. "Was the show any good?"

"Er, not very memorable, actually."

"What is that around your neck?"

I grabbed the scarf I'd forgotten and tried to yank it off, but it was wrapped too many times around my neck, and I just choked myself.

"Uh—I forgot a coat—and someone lent me a scarf."

"It looks goofy."

"Yeah, I figured. But it's warm."

"Are you okay? You look kind of pale."

"Aren't I always kind of pale?"

"Guess so."

Actually, my head was starting to spin a little, and I was still cold, though I knew the room was warm.

Wouldn't it be just like me if I did end up going into shock? Get a grip.

"I, uh, didn't sleep great last night," I said to Charlie. "Think I'm gonna hit the sack early."

"'Night, kid."

I walked up the stairs slowly, a sort of stupor starting to cloud my mind. I had no reason to be so exhausted—or so cold. I brushed my teeth and splashed some hot water on my face; it made me shiver. I didn't bother changing, just kicked off my shoes, then climbed into the bed fully dressed—the second time in a week. I wrapped my quilt tightly around me and fought through a couple of small shudders.

My mind swirled like I was dizzy. It was full of impressions and images, some I wished I could see more clearly, and some I didn't want to remember at all. The road whipping by too fast, the dim yellow light at the restaurant glinting in her blonde hair, the shape of her lips when she smiled…when she frowned…Jeremy's eyes bugging half out of his head, the headlights screaming toward me, the gun pointed at my face while cold sweat beaded on my forehead. My bed shook under me as I shivered again.

No, there were too many things I wanted to remember, wanted to cement into my head, to waste time with the unpleasant stuff. I pulled the scarf I was still wearing up over my nose and inhaled her scent. Almost immediately, my body relaxed, the tremors stilling. I pictured her face in my head—every angle, every expression, every mood.

There were a few things I knew for sure. For one, Elsa was an actual vampire. For another, there was a part of her that saw me as food. But in the end, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that I loved her, more than I'd ever imagined it was possible to love anything. She was everything I wanted, the only thing I would ever want.


	10. interrogations

IT WAS DIFFERENT IN THE MORNING.

All the things that had seemed possible last night in the dark sounded like bad jokes when the sun was up, even inside my own head.

Did that really happen? Did I remember the words right? Had she really said those things to me? Had I really been brave enough to say the things I thought I'd said

Her scarf—her brother's stolen scarf—was folded on top of my backpack, and I had to keep walking over to touch it. That part was real, at least.

It was foggy and dark outside my window, absolutely perfect. She had no reason to miss school today. I dressed in layers, remembering I didn't have my jacket and hoping I wouldn't get soaked all the way through before I could find it again.

When I got downstairs, Charlie was gone—I was running later than I'd realized. I swallowed a granola bar in three bites, chased it down with milk straight from the carton, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I saw Jeremy. Hopefully my jacket was still in his car.

It was really foggy; the air looked like it was filled with smoke. The mist was ice cold where it touched my face, and I couldn't wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I was a few feet down the driveway before I realized there was another car in it: a familiar silver car. My heart did the weird double-thump thing, and I hoped I wasn't developing some kind of aortic issue.

The passenger window was down, and she was leaning toward me, trying not to laugh at my I might be having a heart attack face.

"Would you like a ride to school?" she asked.

Though she was smiling, there was uncertainty in her voice. She didn't mean this to be a no-brainer for me, she wanted me to really think about what I was doing. Maybe she even wanted me to say no. But that wasn't going to happen.

"Yeah, thanks," I said, trying to sound casual. As I ducked into the warm car, I noticed a light tan jacket slung over the headrest of the passenger seat.

"What's this?"

"Royal's jacket. I didn't want you to catch a cold or something."

I set the jacket carefully on the backseat. She didn't seem to mind borrowing her brothers' stuff, but who knew how they felt about it? One of the confused images I remembered from the car accident, however many weeks ago it was now, was the faces of her siblings, watching from a distance. The word that had best summed up Royal's face was fury.

I might have a hard time being afraid of Elsa, but I didn't think I'd have the same problem with Royal.

I pulled the scarf from my bag and laid it on top of the jacket.

"I'm good," I told her, and thumped my fist against my chest twice. "Immune system in top form."

She laughed, but I wasn't sure if it was because she thought I was funny, or ridiculous. Oh well. Just as long as I got to hear her laugh.

She drove through the foggy streets, always too fast, barely looking at the road. She wasn't wearing a jacket, either, just a pale lavender sweater with the sleeves pushed up. The sweater hugged her body, and I tried not to stare. Her hair was wound up into a twist on the back of her head—messy, with strands falling out everywhere—and the way it exposed the slender column of her neck was also distracting. I wanted to brush my fingertips down the length of her throat.…

But I had to be more careful, like she'd warned me last night. I wasn't entirely sure what she meant, but I would do my best, because it was something she obviously needed from me. I wouldn't do anything that would scare her away.

"What, no Twenty Questions today?" she asked me.

"Was that annoying last night?"

"Not annoying, just…confusing."

I was surprised she felt that way. It seemed like I was the one in the dark. "What does that mean?"

"Your reactions—I don't understand them."

"My reactions?"

She glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, Anna. When someone tells you they drink blood, you're supposed to get upset. Make a cross with your fingers, throw holy water, run away screaming, that sort of thing."

"Oh. Um…I'll do better next time?"

"By all means, please work on your expressions of horror."

"Horror isn't exactly how I'd describe last night."

She exhaled through her nose, irritated. I didn't know what to say. Nothing could make me see her as something to run away from.

"So, um, where's the rest of your family?"

I didn't actually want to think about her family. I didn't want to deal with the idea of more vampires—vampires who weren't Elsa. Vampires who might inspire real horror.

But the fact was that usually her car was full, and today it wasn't. Of course, I was grateful. It was hard to imagine something that would keep me out of a car when Elsa invited me in, but a bunch of furious vampires in the backseat might complicate things.

She was just pulling into the school parking lot. Already.

"They took Royal's car." She gestured to a glossy red convertible with the top up as she swerved into the spot next to it. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

"If he's got that, why does he ride with you?"

"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We try to blend in."

I laughed as I opened the car door. "No offense, but you're totally failing there."

She rolled her eyes.

I wasn't late anymore. Her lunatic driving had gotten us to school with time to spare. "Why did Royal drive today if it's more conspicuous?"

"My fault—as usual, Royal would say. Haven't you noticed, Anna? I'm breaking all the rules now."

She met me at the front of the car, staying very close to my side as we walked onto campus. I wanted to close that little distance, to reach out and touch her hand again, to put my arm around her shoulders, but I was afraid that wouldn't be careful enough for her.

Why do you even have cars like that?" I wondered aloud. "If you're looking for privacy, there are plenty of used Hondas available."

"It's an indulgence," she admitted with a little half-smile. "We all like to drive fast."

"Of course," I muttered.

Under the shelter of the cafeteria roof's overhang, Jeremy was waiting with his eyes popping out again. Over his arm was my jacket.

"Hey, Jer," I called when we were a few feet away. "Thanks for bringing that."

He handed me the jacket without speaking.

"Good morning, Jeremy," Elsa said politely. I could tell she wasn't trying to overwhelm him, but even her smallest smile was hard to take in stride.

"Er…hi." Jeremy shifted his wide eyes to me, trying to reorder his scrambled brains. "Guess I'll see you in Trig."

"Yeah, see you then."

He walked away, pausing to glance back at us twice.

"What are you going to tell him?" she murmured.

"Huh?" I looked at her, then at Jeremy's back. "Oh. What's he thinking?"

Her mouth pulled to one side. "I don't know if it's entirely ethical for me to tell you that.…"

"What's not ethical is for you to hoard your unfair advantages for yourself."

She grinned a mischievous smile. "He wants to know if we're secretly dating. And exactly which base you've gotten to with me."

The blood rushed to my face so fast I was sure it was beet red before a full second had passed.

She looked away, her face suddenly as uncomfortable as mine felt. She took a small step away from me and gritted her teeth.

It took me a minute to realize that the flush that embarrassed me so much was probably something else entirely to her.

That helped cool me down.

"Um, what should I say?"

She started walking, and I followed, not paying attention to where she was leading.

After a second, she looked up at me, her face relaxed and smiling again. "That's a good question. I can't wait to hear what you come up with."

"Elsa…"

She grinned, and then her little hand shot up and brushed a piece of hair off my forehead. Just as quickly her hand was back at her side. My heart spluttered like it was in actual distress.

"See you at lunch," she said, brandishing the dimples.

I stood there like I'd been Tasered while she pivoted and walked off in the other direction.

After a second, I recovered enough to see that I was standing right outside the English classroom. Three people had paused by the doorway, staring at me with varying shades of surprise and awe. I ducked my head and brushed past them into the room.

Was Jeremy really going to ask me that? Would Elsa really be eavesdropping on my reaction?

"Morning, Anna."

McKayla was already in her normal seat. Her greeting wasn't as enthusiastic as I was used to. She was smiling, but it felt like a polite thing, not like she was really happy to see me.

"Hey, McKayla. Uh, how're things?"

"Good. How was the movie last night?"

"Oh, right, yeah. I didn't actually see it. I got lost and…"

"Yeah, I heard," she said.

I blinked, startled. "How?"

"I saw Jeremy before school."

"Oh."

"He said you didn't miss much. The movie was lame."

"That's good, I guess."

She was suddenly really interested in her fingernails. She started chipping the purple paint off one. "Did you have, like, plans before you went? I mean, Jeremy thought you might have, and I wondered—why even go through the charade, you know?"

"No, no, I was totally planning on the movie. I didn't expect that…I would get lost and…stuff."

McKayla sniffed once like she didn't believe me, and then looked up at the clock. Ms. Mason was working on something at her desk and didn't seem in a hurry to start class.

"That was really cool that you went out with Jeremy on Monday," I said, changing the subject. "He said it was great." Or I was sure he would have, if I'd asked about it.

She looked at her nails again, but her ears started to turn a little pink. "He did?" she asked in a completely different tone.

"Yeah." I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Remember, I didn't tell you anything. Like, I totally didn't tell you that he thinks you're the coolest girl he's ever known."

Her ears were even pinker now. "Man code. Right."

"I said nothing."

She finally smiled a real smile.

Ms. Mason got up then and asked us to open our books.

I thought maybe I was off the hook with McKayla, but when class was over, I saw her and Erica exchange a look, and then McKayla was picking at her nails again while we walked outside.

"So," she said.

"Yeah?"

"I was just curious if, you know, we were going to see you at the dance after all? Like, you could totally hang with our group, if you wanted to."

"The dance?" I looked at her blankly. "No. No, I'm still going to Seattle."

She seemed surprised, but then she relaxed. "Okay. Oh well. Maybe we can get a group thing together for prom. Share a limo."

I stopped walking.

"Uh, I wasn't really planning on prom.…"

"Really? Shocking!" McKayla laughed. "You might want to mention it to Taylor, though. She says you're taking her."

I felt my jaw fall open. McKayla cracked up.

"That's what I thought," she said.

"Are you serious?" I demanded when I had control of my face again. "I mean, she was probably joking."

"Logan and Jeremy were talking about getting started early and putting together a big thing for prom, and then Taylor said she was out because she already had plans—with you. That's why Logan's being so…you know…about you. He has a thing for Taylor. I figure you deserved a heads-up. After all, you broke the man code for me."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Tell her you're not taking her."

"I can't just…What would I even say?"

She smiled like she was enjoying this. "woman up, Anna. Or rent a dress. Your choice."

So I didn't get much out of Government after that. Was it really my responsibility to uninvite Taylor to the prom? I tried to remember what I'd said to her in the parking lot when she'd asked me to the girls' choice. I was almost positive I had not agreed to anything.

The sky was like lead as I walked to Trig, dark gray and kind of heavy-looking. Last week, I would have found it depressing. Today I smiled. There was something better than sunshine.

When I saw Jeremy sitting by an empty desk in the back row, watching the door, waiting for me, I remembered that Taylor wasn't the only problem I had right now. My neck started feeling warm, and I wished I'd kept the scarf.

There was another open chair two rows forward…but it was probably better to get this over with and be done with it.

Ms. Varner wasn't in the room yet. What was with all the tardy teachers today? It was like nobody even cared if we were educated.

I sat next to Jeremy. He didn't keep me waiting.

"Dang, girl," he said. "Who knew you had that kind of game?"

I rolled my eyes. "I have no game."

"Please." He punched my arm. "Elsa Cullen. C'mon. How did you swing that leabian or not?"

"I didn't do anything."

"How long has this been happening? Is it some kind of secret? Like, she doesn't want her family to know? Is that why you pretended you were going to the movie with us?"

"I wasn't pretending anything. I had no idea she was in Port Angeles last night. She was the last person I expected to see."

He seemed deflated by my obvious honesty.

"Have you ever been out with her before last night?"

"Never."

"Huh. Just a total coincidence?"

"I guess."

It was obvious when I was telling the truth—and obvious when I was evading it. The suspicious, knowing look came back to his face.

"Because, you know, it's not a secret that you've been, like, obsessed with her since you got here."

I winced. "It's not?"

"So, I have to wonder how you turned that around. Do you have a genie in a lamp? Did you find some blackmail on her? Or did you trade your soul to the devil or something?"

"Whatever, man."

"Exactly how much did you get in the bargain? Bet it was a pretty wild night, eh?"

I was starting to get pissed, but I knew he would twist whatever reaction I showed to make it seem like something else.

I answered calmly, "It was an early night. Home by eight."

"Are you serious?"

"It was just dinner and a ride home, Jeremy."

"What about this morning, though? You were still with her."

"Still? No! What—you thought she was with me all night?"

"She wasn't?"

"No."

"But you were in her car—"

"She picked me up for school this morning."

"Why?"

"I have no idea. She offered me a ride. I wasn't going to say no."

"And that's it?"

I shrugged.

"Really? Please tell me you at least made out with her—anything."

I scowled at him. "It's not like that."

He made a disgusted face. "That is, hands down, the most disappointing story I've ever heard in my entire life. I take back everything I said about your game. Obviously, it's just some pity thing."

"Yeah, probably."

"Maybe I should try to look more pathetic. If that's what Elsa is into."

"Go for it."

"It won't take her long to get bored with you, I bet."

My façade slipped for a second. He caught the change and grinned, a little smug.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm sure you're right."

Ms. Varner showed up then, and the general chatter started to die down while she began writing equations across the board.

"You know what, though?" Jeremy said under his breath. "I think I'd rather be with a normal girl."

I was already irritated. I didn't like the way he talked about Elsa in general, and the way he said normal really bugged me. No, Elsa wasn't normal, but that wasn't because, like his tone seemed to imply, she was something…off or wrong. She was beyond normal, above it. Surpassing it by so much that normal and Elsa weren't even on the same plane of existence.

"That's probably for the best," I muttered in a hard voice. "Keep your expectations low."

He shot me a startled look, but I turned to face the teacher. I could feel him staring at me suspiciously again, until Ms. Varner noticed and called on him for an answer. He started flipping spastically through his book, trying to figure out what she'd asked him.

Jeremy walked ahead of me on the way to Spanish, but I didn't care. I was still annoyed. He didn't talk to me again until the end of class when I started shoving my books—a little too enthusiastically—into my backpack.

"You're not sitting with us at lunch today, are you?"

His face was suspicious again, and more guarded now. Obviously, he'd thought I'd be eager to show off, to sell Elsa out to make myself look cooler. After all, Jeremy and I had been friends for a little while. friends told each other this kind of stuff. It was probably part of the man code thing I'd invented. He'd assumed my loyalty would be with him…but now he knew he was wrong.

"Um, not sure," I said. No point in being overconfident. I remembered too clearly what it felt like whenever she disappeared. I didn't want to jinx myself.

He walked off without waiting for me, but then he did a little stutter step and paused on the threshold of the classroom.

"Seriously, what the hell," Jeremy said loud enough that I could hear him—as did everyone else within a ten-foot radius.

He glanced back at me, shook his head, then stalked away.

I was in a hurry to get out the door—to see what that was about—but so was everyone else. One by one, they all stopped to look back at me before exiting. By the time I got out, I didn't know what to expect. Irrationally, I was half-expecting to see Taylor in a sparkly prom dress and tiara.

But outside the door to my Spanish class, leaning against the wall—looking a thousand times more beautiful than anyone had a right to—Elsa was waiting for me. Her wide gold eyes looked amused, and the corners of her lips were right on the point of smiling. Her hair was still coiled up in that messy twist, and I had the oddest urge to reach down and pull the pins out of it.

"Hello, Anna."

"Hi."

Part of me was aware we had an audience, but I was past caring.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Sure." Actually, I had no idea if I was. My whole body felt like it was being electrocuted in a strange and very pleasant way. My nerves couldn't process more than that.

She turned toward the cafeteria, swinging her bag into place.

"Hey, let me get that for you," I offered.

She looked up at me with doe eyes. "Does it look too heavy for me?"

"Well, I mean…"

"Sure," she said. She slid the bag down her arm and then held it out to me, very deliberately using just the tip of her pinkie finger.

"Er, thanks," I said, and she let the strap fall into my hand.

I guess I should have known it would be twice as heavy as my own. I caught it before it could hit the sidewalk, then hefted it over my free shoulder.

"Do you always bring your own cinder blocks to school?"

She laughed. "Archie asked me to grab a few things for him this morning."

"Is Archie your favorite brother?"

She looked at me. "It's not nice to have favorites."

"Only child," I said. "I'm everyone's favorite."

"It shows. Anyway, why do you think that?"

"Seems like you talk about him most easily."

She thought about that for a moment but didn't comment.

Once we were in the cafeteria, I followed her to the food line. I couldn't help staring at the back corner of the cafeteria the way I did every day. Her family was all present and accounted for, paying attention only to each other. They either didn't notice Elsa with me, or they didn't care. I thought about the idea Jeremy had come up with—that Elsa and I were seeing each other in secret to keep it from her family's notice. It didn't look like she was hiding anything from them, but I couldn't help but wonder what they thought about me.

I wondered what I thought about them.

Just then Archie looked up and smiled across the room at me. Automatically, I smiled back, then glanced down to see if he'd actually meant the smile for Elsa. She was aware of him, but she wasn't responding in kind. She looked sort of angry. My eyes cut back and forth between the two of them as they had some kind of silent conversation. First, Archie smiled wider, showing off teeth so white they were bright even across the length of the room. Elsa raised her eyebrows in a sort of challenge, her upper lip curling back just a tiny bit. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and held his hands up like he was saying I surrender. Elsa turned her back to him and moved forward in the line. She grabbed a tray and started loading it up.

"I'm pretty close with all my family, but Archie and I do have the most in common," she said, finally answering my question in a low voice. I had to duck my head down to hear her. "Some days he's really annoying, though."

I glanced back at him; he was laughing now. Though he wasn't looking at us, I thought he might be laughing at her.

I was paying so much attention to this little exchange that I didn't notice what she had on the tray till the lunch lady was ringing us up.

"That'll be twenty-four thirty-three," she said.

"What?" I looked down at the tray and then did a double take.

Elsa was already paying, and then gliding off toward the table where we'd sat together last week.

"Hey," I hissed, jogging a few steps to catch up with her. "I can't eat all that."

"Half is for me, of course."

She sat down and pushed the overflowing tray to the center of the table.

I raised my eyebrows. "Really.

"Take whatever you want."

I sank into the seat across from her, letting the dead weight of her bag slide to the floor with mine. At the other end of the long table, a group of seniors watched her with wide eyes.

"I'm curious. What would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"

"You're always curious." She made a face, then daintily tore the tip off a piece of pizza, popped it in her mouth, and started chewing with a martyred expression. After a second, she swallowed, then gave me a superior look.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" she asked.

I grinned at her. "I did once…on a dare. It wasn't so bad."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised. Here." She shoved the rest of the pizza to me.

I took a bite. I wondered if it really tasted like dirt to her. It wasn't the best pizza I'd ever had, but it was decent. While I was chewing, she glanced over my shoulder and laughed.

I swallowed quickly. "What?"

"You've got Jeremy so confused."

"Tough."

"He really let his mind run wild when he saw you get out of my car."

I shrugged and took another bite.

She tilted her head to the side. "Do you truly agree with him?"

I had to swallow fast again, and I almost choked. She half-rose, but I held my hand up and recovered. "I'm fine. Agree with him about what?"

"Why I'm here with you."

It took me a minute to think through the conversation. I remembered things I hoped she hadn't been paying attention to—like the fact that apparently everyone knew I'd been obsessed with her from day one.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

She frowned. "Obviously, it's just some pity thing?" she quoted.

I was surprised that she looked irritated. "It's as good an explanation as any."

"And I'll be getting bored soon, will I?"

That one stung a little—this was my biggest fear, and it seemed all too likely—but I tried to hide it with another shrug.

"Anna, you're being ridiculous again."

"Am I?"

She smiled a funny half-smile, half-frown. "There are several things I am currently worried about. Boredom is not one of them." She cocked her head to the side, her eyes drilling into mine. "Don't you believe me?"

"Um, sure, I guess. If you say so."

Her eyes narrowed. "Well, that was an overwhelming affirmative."

I took another bite of pizza, chewing slowly and deliberately this time. She waited, watching me with the intense little scowl that I knew meant she was trying to get inside my head. When I took a second bite without speaking, she blew an angry breath out her nose.

"I truly loathe it when you do that."

I took a second to swallow. "What? Not tell you every single stupid thought that passes through my head?"

I could tell she wanted to smile, but she didn't give in. "Precisely."

"I don't know what to say. Do I think you'll get bored with me? Yeah, I do. I honestly don't know why you're still here. But I was trying not to say that out loud, because I didn't want to point something out that you might not have thought of yet."

The smile escaped. "So very true. I never would have realized it myself, but now that you mention it, I really ought to be moving along. That Jeremy suddenly seems alluringly pathetic—" And then she cut off and the smile vanished. "Anna? You know that I'm joking."

I wondered what my face was doing. I nodded.

Her forehead creased. After a second, she hesitantly stretched her arm across the table toward me, leaving her hand in easy reach.

I covered it with mine.

She smiled, but then she winced.

"Sorry," I said, pulling away.

"No," she objected. "It's not you. Here."

As carefully as if my hand were blown from the thinnest glass, she rested her fingers on my palm. Copying her caution, I folded my hand gently around them.

"What was wrong just now?" I half-whispered.

"Many different reactions." Her forehead wrinkled again. "Royal has a particularly strident mental voice."

I couldn't help it; I automatically glanced across the room, and then was very sorry I had.

Royal was glaring daggers at Elsa's unprotected back, and Eleanor, across from him, was turned around to glower at Elsa, too. When I looked, Royal shifted his furious eyes to me.

My eyes darted to Elsa, the hair standing up on the back of my arms, but she was glaring back at Royal now, her upper lip pulled back off her teeth in a menacing scowl. To my surprise, Eleanor turned around at once and Royal dropped his threatening stare. He looked down at the table with a suddenly sulky expression.

Archie looked like he was enjoying it all hugely. Jessamine never turned.

"Did I just piss off—" I swallowed before I could finish. A bunch of vampires?

"No," she said fiercely, then sighed. "But I did."

I glanced at Royal again for a fraction of a second. He hadn't moved. "Look, are you in trouble because of me? What can I do?" The memory of his livid eyes trained on her small body had a wave of panic rolling through me.

She shook her head and smiled. "You don't need to worry about me," she reassured me, a little smug. "I'm not saying that Royal couldn't take me in a fair fight, but I am saying that I never have fought fair and I don't intend to start now. He knows better than to try anything with me."

Elsa…"

She laughed. "A joke. It's really nothing, Anna. Normal sibling issues. An only child couldn't understand."

"If you say so."

"I do."

I looked at our hands, still folded so very carefully together. It was the first time I'd really held her hand, but wrapped up in the wonder of that was the memory of why she'd offered it to me in the first place.

"Back to what you were thinking," she said, as if she could read my thoughts.

I sighed.

"Would it help if you knew you weren't the only one who had been accused of obsession?"

I groaned. "You heard that, too. Great."

She laughed. "I was entranced from start to finish."

"Sorry," I said.

"Why are you apologizing? It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one."

I stared at her, skeptical.

"Let me put it this way." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Though you are the one person I can't be sure about, I'd still be willing to place a very large wager that I spend more time thinking about you than you do about me."

"Ha," I laughed, startled. "You would totally lose that bet."

She raised an eyebrow and then spoke so low that I had to lean in to hear. "Ah, but you're only conscious for roughly sixteen hours in any given twenty-four-hour period. That gives me quite a lead, don't you think?"

"You're not factoring in dreams, though."

She sighed. "Do nightmares count as dreams?"

Red started creeping up my neck. "When I dream about you…it's definitely not a nightmare."

Her mouth opened just a tiny bit in surprise, and her face was suddenly vulnerable. "Really?" she asked.

It was obvious that she was pleased, so I said, "Every single night."

She closed her eyes for just a minute, but when she opened them, her smile was teasing again.

"REM cycles are the shortest of all the sleep stages. I'm still hours ahead."

I frowned. It was difficult to process. "You really think about me?"

"Why is that hard for you to believe?"

"Well, look at me," I said, unnecessarily, as she already was. "I'm absolutely ordinary—well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so uncoordinated that I can barely walk. And look at you." I waved my free hand toward her and all her unsettling perfection.

She smiled a slow smile. It started small but ended with the full array of dimples—like the grand finale at the end of a fireworks show on the Fourth of July.

"I can't argue with you about the bad things."

"Well, there you go."

"But you're the least ordinary person I've ever met."

Our eyes held for a long moment. Mine searched hers, as I tried to believe she could see something important enough to keep her here. It always felt like she was just about to slip away, to disappear like she was only a myth after all.

"But why…" I didn't know how to phrase it.

She tilted her head, waiting.

"Last night…" I stopped and shook my head.

She frowned. "Do you do that on purpose? The unfinished thought as a way to drive me mad?"

"I don't know if I can explain it right."

"Please try."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. You're claiming I don't bore you and you aren't thinking of moving on to Jeremy anytime soon."

She nodded, fighting a grin.

"But last night…it was like…" She was anxious now. The rest came out in a rush. "Like you were already looking for a way to say goodbye."

"Perceptive," she whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as she confirmed my worst fear.

Her fingers ever so gently squeezed mine.

"Those two things are unrelated, however."

"Which two things?"

"The depth of my feelings for you, and the necessity of leaving. Well, they are related, but inversely."

The necessity of leaving. My stomach plunged. "I don't understand."

She stared into my eyes again, and hers burned, mesmerizing. Her voice was barely audible. "The more I care about you, the more crucial it is that I find a way to…keep you safe. From me. Leaving would be the right thing to do."

I shook my head. "No."

She took a deep breath, and her eyes seemed to darken in an odd way. "Well, I wasn't very good at leaving you alone when I tried. I don't know how to do it."

"Will you do me a favor? Stop trying to figure that one out."

She half-smiled. "I suppose, given the frequency of your near-death experiences, it's actually safer for me to stay close."

"True story. You never know when another rogue van might attack."

She frowned.

"You're still going to Seattle with me, right? Lots of vans in Seattle. Waiting in ambush around literally every corner."

"Actually, I have a question for you on that subject. Did you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying a definitive no to your bevy of admirers?"

"Um."

"That's what I thought."

"You know, you actually put me in kind of a difficult position with the whole thing in the parking lot with Taylor."

"You mean because you're taking her to prom now

My mouth fell open, and then I ground my teeth together.

She was trying not to laugh now. "Oh, Anna."

I could tell there was more. "What?"

"She already has her dress."

I had no words for that.

She must have read the panic in my eyes. "It could be worse—she actually bought it before she claimed you for the date. It was secondhand, also, not a large investment. She couldn't pass up the deal."

I still couldn't talk. She squeezed my hand again. "You'll figure it out."

"I don't do dances," I said sadly.

"If I'd asked you to the spring dance, would you have told me no?"

I looked at her long gold eyes and tried to imagine refusing her anything she wanted. "Probably not, but I would have found a reason to cancel later. I would have broken my leg if I had to."

She looked mystified. "Why would you do that?"

I shook my head sadly. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you would understand."

"Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Got it in one."

"I'm a very good teacher, Anna."

"I don't think coordination is a learnable skill."

She shook her head. "Back to the question. Must you go to Seattle, or would you mind if we did something different?"

As long as the we part was in, I didn't care about anything else.

"I'm open to alternatives," I allowed. "But I do have another favor to ask."

She looked wary, like she always did when I asked an open-ended question. "What?"

"Can I drive?"

She frowned. "Why?"

"Well, mostly because you're a terrifying driver. But also because I told Charlie I was going alone, and I don't want him to get curious."

She rolled her eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." She shook her head in disgust, but then her eyes were serious again. "Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" There was an undercurrent to her question that I didn't understand.

"With Charlie, less is always more." I was definite about that. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Archie says the weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye…and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Again, she was leaving the choice up to me.

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" I asked, excited by the idea of solving another of the unknowns.

"Yes." She smiled, then hesitated. "But if you don't want to be…alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of all the vans."

"As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

"I know," she sighed. "You should tell Charlie, though."

I shook my head at the thought of explaining my personal life to Charlie. "Why on earth would I do that?"

Her eyes were suddenly fierce. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back."

I waited for her to relax. When she didn't, I said, "I'll take my chances."

She exhaled angrily, and looked away.

"So that's settled. New topic?"

My attempt to change the subject didn't help much.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked through her teeth, still annoyed.

I glanced around us, making sure we were well out of anyone's hearing. In the back corner, Archie was leaning forward, talking to Jessamine. Eleanor sat beside her, but Royal was gone.

"Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend…to hunt? Charlie said it wasn't a good place to hike, because of bears."

She stared at me as if I was missing something very obvious.

"Bears?" I gasped.

She smirked.

"You know, bears are not in season," I added sternly, to cover my shock.

"If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons," she informed me.

She watched my face with enjoyment as that slowly sank in.

"Bears?" I repeated with difficulty.

"Grizzly is Eleanor's favorite." Her voice was still offhand, but her eyes were scrutinizing my reaction. I tried to pull myself together.

"Hmmm," I said, taking another bite of pizza as an excuse to look down. I chewed slowly, then swallowed.

"So," I said after a moment. "What's your favorite?"

She raised an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth turned down like she didn't approve of my question. "Mountain lion."

"Sure, that makes sense." I nodded, like she'd just said something totally normal.

"Of course"—her tone mirrored mine, nothing out of the ordinary—"we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators—ranging as far away as we need. There are always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?"

She smiled.

"So not fun," I murmured around another bite of pizza.

"Early spring is El's favorite bear season—they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." She smiled at some remembered joke.

"Nothing better than an irritated grizzly bear," I agreed, nodding.

She laughed, then shook her head. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please."

"I'm trying to picture it—but I can't," I admitted. "How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

"Oh, we have weapons." She flashed her bright teeth with a wide grin that wasn't really a smile. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Eleanor hunting."

I glanced across the cafeteria toward Eleanor, grateful that she wasn't looking my way. The long, smooth lines of muscle that ran down her arms and legs were suddenly much more than intimidating. I pictured her gripping under the edge of a mountain, then lifting…

Elsa followed my gaze and chuckled. I stared back at her, unnerved.

"Is it dangerous?" I asked in a low voice. "Do you ever get hurt?"

Her laughter pealed like a bell. "Oh, Anna. About as dangerous as your slice."

I looked at the pizza crust and said, "Yikes. So…are you…like a bear attack?"

"More like the lion, or so they tell me," she said lightly. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

"Perhaps," I repeated. I tried to smile, but my mind was struggling to fit the paradoxical images together, and failing. "Is that something I might get to see?"

"Never!" she whispered. Her face turned even whiter than usual, and her eyes were suddenly horrified. She pulled her hand gently from mine and wrapped her arms tightly around her body.

My hand lay there empty on the table, numb from the cold.

"What did I say?" I asked.

She closed her eyes for a moment, regaining control. When she met my stare at last, she looked angry. "I almost wish it were possible. You don't seem to understand the realities present. It might be beneficial for you to see exactly how dangerous I actually am."

"Okay, then, why not?" I pressed, trying to ignore her hard expression.

She glared at me for a long minute.

"Later," she finally said. She was on her feet in one lithe movement. "We're going to be late."

I glanced around, startled to see that she was right and the cafeteria was nearly vacant. When I was with her, the time and the place were such minor details that I completely lost track of both. I jumped up, grabbing our bags from the floor.

"Later, then," I agreed. I wouldn't forget


	11. complications

EVERYONE WATCHED US AS WE WALKED TOGETHER TO OUR LAB TABLE. This time she didn't angle the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, she sat right next to me, our arms almost touching. Her hair brushed my skin.

Mrs. Banner backed into the room then, pulling an outdated TV and VCR on a wheeled frame. It seemed like everyone in the room relaxed at the same time. I was relieved, too. I knew I wouldn't have been able to pay attention to a lecture today. I had too much to sort through inside my head already.

Mrs. Banner shoved the old tape into the VCR, then walked across the room to turn off the lights. And then suddenly, as the room went black, things got weird.

It wasn't like I wasn't already hyperaware that Elsa was right there, just an inch away from me. I wouldn't have imagined that I could be more aware of her. But in the dark, somehow…It was like an electrical current was flowing through her body into mine, like those miniature lightning bolts that jump between live circuits were dancing up and down the small gap between our bodies. Where her hair touched my arm, it was almost painful.

A crazy strong impulse to reach over and touch her—to stroke her perfect face just once in the darkness—almost overwhelmed me. What was wrong with me? You couldn't just go around touching people because the lights were off. I crossed my arms tightly over my ribs and balled my hands into fists.

The opening credits started, and the room got a fraction brighter. I couldn't stop myself from peeking over at her.

She was sitting exactly like I was—arms crossed, hands clenched, just glancing over to me. When she saw me looking, too, she smiled, almost like she was embarrassed. Even in the dark, her eyes still burned. I had to look away before I did something stupid—something that would definitely not conform to her idea of careful.

It was a very long hour. I couldn't concentrate on the movie. I didn't have any idea what it was about. I tried to act normal, to make my muscles relax, but the electrical current never let up. Now and then, I let myself take a quick glance in her direction, but she never seemed to relax, either. The feeling that I just had to touch her face also refused to go away. I kept my fists crushed safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.

I sighed with relief when Mrs. Banner flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms down at my sides, flexing my stiff fingers. Elsa laughed once.

"Well, that was…interesting," she murmured. Her voice was low and her eyes were cautious.

"Umm," was all I was able to respond.

"Shall we?" she asked, on her feet in one liquid movement. She scooped her bag up with one finger.

I stood carefully, worried I wouldn't be able to walk straight after all that.

She walked with me to Gym in silence, and then paused at the door. I looked down to say goodbye but choked on the word. Her face—it was torn, almost pained, and so unbearably beautiful that the ache to touch her hit me even more intensely than it had before. It was all I could do to just stare.

She raised one hand, hesitant, conflict clear in her eyes, and then quickly brushed her fingertips across the line of my jaw. Her fingers were icy like always, but the trail they left on my skin was almost like a burn that hadn't turned painful yet.

She spun without a word and walked swiftly away from me.

I stumbled into the gym, lightheaded and unstable, and dressed down in a trance, barely aware of the other people around me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was handed a racket.

It wasn't very heavy, but I knew that didn't matter. In my hands, it was dangerous. I could see a few of the other kids eyeing me and the racket. Then Coach Clapp ordered us to choose our own partners, and I figured I was about to be the last guy up against the wall.

But I'd underestimated McKayla's loyalty. She came to stand next to me right away.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I told her.

She grinned. "Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way."

Sometimes it was really easy to like McKayla.

It didn't go smoothly. I'm not sure how I did it, but I managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip McKayla's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held behind my back. Despite being handicapped by me, McKayla was pretty good; she won three games out of four single-handedly, then gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.

"So," she started as we walked off the court.

"So?"

"You and Elsa Cullen, huh?" Her tone was just slightly hostile.

"Yeah, me and Elsa Cullen," I replied. I'm sure she could hear the sound of wonder in my voice.

"I don't like it," she muttered.

"Well, you don't actually have to."

"So she just snaps her fingers and you heel?"

"Guess so."

She scowled at me. I turned my back on her and walked away. I knew I would be last against the wall tomorrow, but I didn't care. By the time I was dressed I'd forgotten all about McKayla. Would Elsa be outside, or should I go wait by her car? What if her family was there? She'd parked right next to Royal's car. Just thinking about Royal's face in the cafeteria had me wondering if I should walk home. Had she told them that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew? What was the etiquette on vampire acknowledgments? Did a nod work?

But when I walked out of the gym, Edythe was there. She stood in the shade of the gym building, though the clouds were still black, with her hands laced together in front of her. Her face was peaceful now, a small smile turning up just the corners of her lips. The thin sweater didn't look like enough, and though I knew it was stupid, I wanted to take my jacket off and wrap it around her. As I walked to her side, I felt a strange sense of harmony—like everything was right in the world as long as I was close to her.

"Hi." I could feel the huge, goofy smile on my face.

"Hello." Her answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"

I was suddenly suspicious. "Fine."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up. "How's your head?"

"You didn't."

She started walking slowly toward the parking lot. I automatically fell into step with her.

"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym—it made me curious."

"Great," I said. "Fantastic. Well, sorry about that. I don't mind walking home if you don't want to be seen with me."

She laughed musically. "It was very entertaining. Though I wouldn't have minded if you'd hit that girl just a little harder."

"What?"

As she glanced behind us, her mouth flattened into a straight line. I turned to see what she was looking at—McKayla's blond hair bobbing as she walked away.

"It's been a while since someone besides family thought those kinds of words about me. I don't think I like it."

I felt a sudden pang of anxiety for McKayla.

Elsa read my expression and laughed again. "Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt your friend. If I did, who else would agree to be your badminton partner?"

It was hard to process. Elsa was just so…delicate. But when she said this, it was clear that she was more than confident in her abilities. If she wanted McKayla—or anyone—hurt, it would be very bad news for that person. She was dangerous, I knew this, but I kept running into a wall when I tried to believe it. I changed the subject.

"What kinds of words has your family been thinking about you?"

She shook her head. "It's not fair to judge people on their thoughts. Those are supposed to be private. It's actions that count."

"I don't know.…If you know someone can hear, isn't that the same thing as saying it out loud?"

"Easy for you to say." She grinned. "Controlling your thoughts is very difficult. When Royal and I butt heads, I think much worse things about him, and I do say those words out loud." She laughed her ringing laugh again.

I hadn't been watching where we were going, so I was surprised when we had to slow, blocked from Elsa's car by a crowd of kids. There was a circle around Royal's red convertible, two deep, mostly guys. Some of them looked about to drool. None of her family was around, and I wondered if she'd asked them to give her some space.

None of the car enthusiasts even looked up when I edged by them to get Edythe's door.

Ostentatious," she muttered as she slid past me.

I hurried around to the passenger side and climbed in.

"What kind of car is that?"

"An M3," she said as she tried to back out of the space without hitting anybody.

"Um, I don't speak Car and Driver."

She carefully maneuvered her way free. "It's a BMW."

"Okay, I know that one."

We pulled away from the school and it was just the two of us. The privacy felt like freedom. There was no one watching or listening here.

"Is it later yet?" I asked her.

She didn't miss the significance in my tone.

She frowned. "I suppose it is."

I kept my expression neutral while I waited for her to explain. She watched the road, pretending like she actually needed to, and I watched her face. A few different expressions flickered across it, but they changed so fast I wasn't able to interpret them. I was starting to wonder if she was just going to ignore my question when she stopped the car. I looked up, surprised. We were already at Charlie's house, parked behind my truck. It was easier to ride with her, I decided, when I didn't look until it was over.

She was staring at me when I looked back, seeming to measure me with her eyes.

"And you want to know why you can't see me hunt?" she asked. Her voice was serious, but her expression was a little amused. Not at all like it had been in the cafeteria earlier.

"Yes. And why you seemed so…mad when I asked."

She raised her eyebrows. "Did I frighten you?" The question sounded hopeful.

"Did you want to?"

She tilted her head to one side. "Maybe I did."

"Okay then, sure, I was terrified."

She smiled, shook her head, and then her face was serious again. "I apologize for reacting like that. It was just the thought of you being near…while we hunted." Her jaw tightened.

"That would be bad?"

She answered through her teeth. "Extremely."

"Because…?"

She took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.

"When we hunt"—she spoke slowly, unwillingly—"we give ourselves over to our senses…govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" She shook her head, still staring unhappily at the heavy clouds.

I kept my expression empty, expecting the swift flash of her eyes to judge my reaction that followed. But our eyes held, and the silence deepened—changed. Flickers of the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as she gazed without blinking into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the silence, she closed her eyes.

"Anna, I think you should go inside now." Her low voice wasn't so smooth—more like raw silk now—and her eyes were on the clouds again.

I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I was so lightheaded that I might stumble, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

"Oh, Anna?" she called after me. She leaned toward the open window with a small smile on her lips.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

She smiled wider, flashing her gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."

And then she was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even put my thoughts in order. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear she was planning to see me tomorrow, if nothing else.

That night Elsa starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly, waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When my alarm went off, I was still beat, but wired at the same time. After I showered, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror while I combed through my wet hair. I looked the same as always, and yet there was something different. My hair was dark and too thick, my skin too pale, and my bones were all shaped the same underneath, no change there. My eyes were the same light blue staring back at me…but I realized they were the culprits. I'd always thought it was the color that made them—and by extension, the rest of my face—look so uncertain, but though the color hadn't changed, the lack of resolve had. The boy who looked back at me today was determined, sure of his course. I wondered when that had happened. I thought I could probably guess.

Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I expected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday.

"About this Saturday…," he began, like he could read my mind. I was getting really paranoid about that specific concern.

"Yes, Dad?"

He walked across the kitchen and turned on the faucet. "Are you still set on going to Seattle?"

"That was the plan." I frowned, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.

He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?"

I'm not going to the dance, Dad."

"Didn't anyone ask you?" he asked, his eyes focused on the plate.

"It's not my thing," I reminded him.

"Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate.

I wondered if he was worried about me being a social outcast. Maybe I should have told him I had lots of invitations. But that would obviously backfire. He wouldn't be very happy if he knew I'd turned them all down. Then I would have to tell him that there was a girl…who hadn't asked me…and obviously I didn't want to get into that.

Which got me thinking about prom and Taylor and the dress she already had and Logan's attitude toward me and that whole mess. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. In any universe, I wasn't going to prom. In a universe where Elsa Cullen existed, I wasn't going to be interested in any other girl. It wasn't fair to just go along with Taylor's plan when my heart wasn't in it. The problem was figuring out how.…

Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to look out of my window. The silver car was already there, waiting in Charlie's spot on the driveway. I took the stairs three at a time and was out the door in seconds. I wondered how long this strange routine would continue. I never wanted it to end.

She waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the deadbolt. I walked to the car, then hesitated for just a second before I opened the door and climbed in. She was smiling, relaxed—and, as usual, so perfect it was painful.

"Good morning. How are you today?" Her eyes roamed over my face, like the question was something more than simple courtesy.

"Good, thank you." I was always good—much more than good—when I was close to her.

Her gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired."

"I couldn't sleep," I admitted.

She laughed. "Neither could I."

The engine purred quietly to life. I was getting used to the sound. The roar of my truck would probably scare me the next time I drove it.

"I guess that's right," I said. "I probably did get more sleep than you."

"I would wager you did."

"So what did you do last night?"

She laughed. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right." My forehead creased. I couldn't imagine anything about me that would be interesting to her. "What do you want to know?"

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, totally serious.

I shrugged. "It changes."

"What is it today?"

"Um, probably…gold, I guess."

"Is there anything material behind your choice, or is it random?"

I cleared my throat self-consciously. "It's the color of your eyes today. If you asked me in a week, I'd probably say black."

She gave me a look that I didn't entirely understand, but before I could ask, she was on to her next question.

"What music is in your CD player right now?"

I had to think about that one for a second, until I remembered that the last thing I'd listened to was the CD Phil had given me. When I said the name of the band, she smiled and opened a hatch under the car's CD player. She pulled out one of the dozens of CDs that were packed into the small space, and handed it to me. It was the same CD.

"Debussy to this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While we walked between classes and all through the lunch hour, she questioned me without a break. She wanted to know about every insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few places I'd been and the many places I wanted to go, and books—so many questions about books.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. I felt self-conscious the whole time, knowing I had to be boring her. But she always seemed on the edge of her seat waiting for my answers, she always had a follow-up question, she always wanted more. So I went along with the psychoanalysis, since it seemed to matter to her.

When the first bell rang, I sighed deeply. It was time. "There's one question you haven't asked me yet."

"More than one, actually, but which specific one are you looking for?"

"The most embarrassing thing I've ever done."

She grinned. "Is it a spectacular story?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'll tell you in five minutes."

I shoved away from the table. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

At my usual table, my friends were all just getting to their feet. I walked toward them.

Patches of red flared in my cheeks, but that was probably okay. I was supposed to look emotional. Anyway, the pretty guy in the melodramatic soap my mom used to watch religiously looked fired up when he did this scene. Thanks to him, at least I had a general outline for my script, embellished by something I'd once thought about Elsa; I wanted to keep this flattering.

Jeremy noticed me first, and his eyes were speculative. They flashed from my red face to where Elsa was and back to me.

"Taylor, can I have a minute?" I said as I walked up to her. I didn't say it quietly.

She was right in the very middle of the cluster. Logan turned to glower at me with his fishy green eyes.

Sure, Anna," Taylor said, looking confused.

"Look," I said, "I can't do this anymore."

Everyone fell silent. Jeremy's eyes got all round. Allen looked embarrassed. McKayla shot me a critical glance, like she couldn't believe I was doing it this way. But she didn't know exactly what I was doing, or why I needed this audience.

Taylor was shocked. "What?"

I scowled. It was easy—I was pretty angry right now that I hadn't talked myself out of this, or come up with a better way. But it was too late for improv now.

"I'm tired of being a pawn in your game, Taylor. Do you even realize that I have feelings of my own? And all I can do is watch while you use me to make someone else jealous." My eyes darted quickly to Logan, whose mouth was hanging open, and back to Taylor. "You don't care if you break my heart in the process. Is it being beautiful that's made you so cruel?"

Taylor's eyes were wide, her mouth open in a little o.

"I'm not going to play anymore. This whole prom charade? I'm out. Go with the person you really want to be with." A longer glare this time at Logan.

And then I stalked away, slamming through the cafeteria doors in what I hoped was a dramatic way.

I was never going to live this down.

But at least I was free. Probably worth it.

Suddenly Elsa was right next to me, keeping pace like we'd been walking together all along.

"That truly was spectacular," she said.

I took a deep breath. "Maybe a little over the top. Did it work?"

"Like a charm. Taylor's feeling quite the femme fatale, and she's not even sure why. If Logan doesn't ask her to prom by Monday, I'll be surprised."

"Good," I grunted.

"And now back to you…"

Elsa kept up the quiz until we were in Biology and Mrs. Banner arrived, dragging the audiovisual frame again. When she was finished with her prep and turned toward the light switch, I saw Edythe slide her chair a half-inch farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the room was dark, there was that same electric tension, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch her cold, smooth skin.

It was like an itch that just got more and more demanding. I couldn't pay attention to anything else. Hopefully whatever movie it was that we were watching wouldn't be on the final.

After a little while, maybe fifteen minutes—or maybe it was only two and it just felt so long because of the electricity—I shifted my chair over and slowly leaned to the side until my arm was just touching her shoulder. She didn't move away.

I thought that little contact would help, that it would take away the nagging want, but it kind of backfired. The little frisson of electricity got stronger, changed into bigger jolts. I was suddenly dying to put my arm around her, to pull her into my side and hold her against me. I wanted to run my fingers down the length of her hair, to bury my face in it. I wanted to trace the shape of her lips, the line of her cheekbone, the length of her throat.…

Not really appropriate for a classroom full of people.

I leaned forward, folding my arms on the table and gripping under the edge with my fingers, trying to hold myself in place. I didn't look at her, afraid that if she was looking back at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I tried to make myself watch the movie, but the patches of color just wouldn't resolve into coherent images.

I sighed in relief again when Mrs. Banner hit the lights, and then finally I looked at Elsa; she was staring back, her eyes ambivalent.

Like yesterday, we walked toward the gym in silence. And also like yesterday, she touched my face wordlessly—this time with the back of her cool hand, stroking once from my temple to my jaw—before she turned and walked away.

Gym passed quickly. To save time, Coach Clapp told us to keep the same partners, so McKayla was forced to be my teammate again. I watched her one-woman badminton show without participating—for both our safety. She didn't talk to me, but whether that was because of the scene in the cafeteria, or our falling-out yesterday, or because my expression was so vacant, I didn't know. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn't concentrate on her any more than I could make sense of the movie in Biology.

I felt the same sense of harmony when I walked out the gym door and saw Elsa in the shadow of the gym. Everything was right in my world. A wide smile spread automatically across my face. She smiled back, then launched into more cross-examination.

Her questions were different now, not as easily answered. She wanted to know what I missed about my home, insisting on descriptions of anything she wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden cloudburst.

I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote—bitter, kind of resinous, but still pleasant—the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the gaunt, feathery trees, the enormous sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me—to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the spiny vegetation that mostly looked half dead, a beauty that had something to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to her.

Her quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my old room at home, she paused instead of responding with another question.

Are you finished?" I asked in relief.

"Not even close—but your father will be home soon."

"How late is it?" I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time.

"It's twilight," Elsa murmured, looking toward the western horizon, hidden behind the clouds. Her voice was thoughtful, as if her mind were far away. I stared at her as she stared out the windshield.

I was still staring when her eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.

"It's the safest time of day for us," she said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way…the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" She smiled wistfully.

"I like the night. Without the dark, you'd never see the stars." I frowned. "Not that you see them here much."

She laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.

"Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday…" She looked at me hopefully.

"Thanks, but no thanks." I gathered my books, stiff from sitting still so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

"Certainly not!" She pretended to be outraged. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?"

She displayed the dimples. "You'll find out tomorrow."

I stared at her, a little dazed, as usual.

I'd always thought I didn't really have a type; my former crowd back home all had something—one liked blondes and one only cared about the legs and one had to have blue eyes. I'd thought I was less particular; a pretty girl was a pretty girl. But I realized now that I must have been the most difficult to please of them all. Apparently, my type was extremely specific—I'd just never known it. I hadn't known my favorite hair color was this metallic shade of blonde, because I'd never seen it before. I hadn't known I was looking for eyes the color of honey, because I'd never seen those, either. I didn't know a girl's lips had to be curved just this way and her cheekbones high under the long slash of her black lashes. All along, there had only been one shape, one face that would move me.

Like an idiot, warnings forgotten, I reached for her face, leaning in.

She recoiled.

"Sorr—" I started to say as my hand dropped.

But her head whipped forward, and she was staring into the rain again.

"Oh no," she breathed.

"What's wrong?"

Her jaw was clenched, her brows pulled down into a hard line over her eyes. She glanced at me for one brief second.

"Another complication," she told me glumly.

She leaned across me and flung my door open in one quick movement—her proximity sent my heart racing in an uneven gallop—and then she almost cringed away from me.

Headlights flashed through the rain. I looked up, expecting Charlie and a bunch of explanations to follow, but it was a dark sedan I didn't recognize.

"Hurry," she urged.

She was glaring through the downpour at the other vehicle.

I jumped out immediately, though I didn't understand. The rain lashed against my face; I pulled my hood up.

I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was too dark. I could see Elsa illuminated in the blaze of the new car's headlights; she was still staring ahead, her gaze locked on something or someone I couldn't see. Her expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance.

Then she revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds.

"Hey, Anna," called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side of the little black car.

"Jules?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie's cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me.

Jules was already climbing out, her wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older woman, an imposing woman with an unusual face—it was stern and stoic, with creases that ran through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, set deep under the heavy brows, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient to match the face. Jules's mother, Bonnie Black. I knew her immediately, though in the more than five years since I'd seen her last I'd managed to forget her name when Charlie had spoken of her my first day here. She was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at her. Then I processed more—that her eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, her nostrils flared—and my smile faded.

Another complication, Elsa had said.

Bonnie still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. Had Bonnie recognized Elsa so easily? Could she really believe the impossible legends her daughter had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Bonnie's eyes. Yes. Yes, she could.


End file.
